


Lonesome Town

by green_eyes_and_illusions



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bartender Dean Winchester, Castiel with kids, Explicit Sexual Content, Gen, Grief/Mourning, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, MENTIONS OF SUICIDE be safe guys, Pianist Castiel (Supernatural), Rough Sex, claire is castiel's niece, graphic but not super detailed depictions of violence, i don't even like kids but this happened, i'm also a slut for classical music, mentions of child abuse, mentions of grief, minor character death but has big impact, minor mentions of racism because it's the 50s, okay i'm a slut for music history, very subtle homophobia sometimes cause it's the 50s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:35:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 113,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29541075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/green_eyes_and_illusions/pseuds/green_eyes_and_illusions
Summary: In the Spring of 1958, Castiel drops out of West Point to go back to NYC and pursue his dream of being a pianist. Tragedy strikes, and soon he finds himself having to take care of his 8 year old niece, Claire. His gig at a local bar is his only solace...well that and the owner of the bar who he quickly finds he can't live without.
Relationships: Castiel & Claire Novak, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 24
Kudos: 52





	1. Decrescendo

**Author's Note:**

> [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3UPa9BDcrZqDtjinup5Zft?si=ap9-rCb9QweFKZbQlz4osQ)
> 
> P.S. although these songs are in order, you do not have to listen to them all. (50s music isn't my favorite either but I had to commit to it). But I HIGHLY recommend listening to the three that are pretty important to the story: 
> 
> 1\. Waltz No. 15 in A flat major, Op. 39 by Johannes Brahms  
> 2\. Nocturne in D-Flat Major by Alexander Scriabin  
> 3\. And (of course) Lonesome Town by Ricky Nelson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a decrease in loudness in a piece of music

“It's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.”

-Lewis Carroll

**Lent et douloureux**

It was raining in the city that day. The rain shimmered against the streets, making them look like dark rivers. A song played in Castiel’s head. A soft song that was almost dizzying. It made him feel like he was swaying on a ship while the ocean was still riled by a storm. Castiel traced his fingers over the raindrops that slid down the window of the cab. He sat in the backseat, his briefcase crammed between his knees and the passenger seat in front of him. 

His mother used to tell him that April showers brought May flowers. This was when her “hobby” of the month consisted of knowing weather patterns and relentlessly questioning the validity of the weatherman on the television. She’d bundle up a young Castiel and his twin brother Jimmy in the middle of spring when she had a strange feeling in her knees that it would snow. Of course, it didn’t. The city always got hot around April, leaving Castiel and Jimmy to have to strip off theirs coats in the cab and then carry it around school all day.

“This it, sir?” The cab driver asked. Castiel hadn’t noticed that the car had stopped at the curb. The man repeated himself. “Sir?”

“Yes. Thank you,” he said then slipped a dollar and a couple dimes out of his pocket and handed it to the man. The driver blew smoke from the cigarette stuck between his lips then turned back to face the windshield. Castiel opened the car door and stepped out onto the street. The cab skid away fast, looking for its next passenger. He watched it go for a split second, wishing he could climb back into the cab and tell the driver to take him anywhere but where he had to be.

Castiel stood in front of the apartment building that he grew up in. It was a rather tall building, one of the tallest apartment buildings on the upper east side, and one of the most lavish. He disliked it with all he had. He hated the color of the bricks, the doorman who gave him disapproving glares for no reason, and the woman and her small squirrely dog who lived above him.

He walked slowly into the building and greeted the doorman with a nod. His glare seemed deeper this time around. He must have heard the news. Naomi, his mother, tells everyone updates on the lives of her children no matter if they like it or not. Castiel felt eyes on him as he walked across the lobby and into the elevator. His elevator operator, Donatello, was always nice to him. When Castiel stepped into the elevator, Donatello’s face lit up.

“You’re back!” he said. “Oh. You’re back,” he said again, his eyes leaving Castiel’s and focusing on the elevator buttons.

“Yes,” Castiel said. “I’m sure my mother informed you I was returning.”

“I remember, yes. Should I be happy to see you, or should I fear for your safety?” Donatello said. Him and Cas stared straight ahead at the elevator door.

“My parents will have to deal with it,” Castiel said. “They’re going to hate me. But I can’t change my decision.”

“Your mother seemed…” Donatello cleared his throat. “Strangely alright in regard to everything that is going on.”

Castiel huffed a laugh, mostly to keep from fear curdling in him. “Trust me, she is not.”

“Fifth floor,” Donatello announced. “Good luck kid. Nice to see you, despite, well, everything.”

Castiel nodded a thank you and left the elevator. He held his breath as he walked down the winding hall all the way to apartment thirteen. He dropped his suitcase to his feet then knocked on the door. Hopefully, the knock sounded strong and determined.

Any confidence he had was ripped out of his chest when the worst-case scenario answered the door. His father’s eyes appeared, and they could burn holes in him.

**Emperor**

One of his father’s favorite possessions was a dish his sister had given him when him and Naomi moved to their grand apartment in the upper east side after the great success of his first book. The dish now flew across the room as if it had wings and shattered on the wall. Porcelain scattered across the living room and Castiel’s first thought was how each shard bounced beautifully against the Persian rug, creating a small symphony. He focused on that, his brain shifting to the keys of a piano, his fingers stretching before him, the notes in his head falling in a decrescendo. All he knew was that his father’s face was red, his words were coming out with sprays of spit, and his fists were tight at his sides.

“Chuck, dear, your sister can’t replace that,” Naomi said casually, as if the dish had not already been broken and instead it was still in Chuck’s hands, its life being threatened.

“You threw away your whole future. Do you know how fucking stupid you are? Why are you like this? Jimmy does just fine. Even Gabriel has got a roof over his head, a wife and two-point-five fucking kids. God knows how he managed to do that. Where are your kids Castiel? Why are you trying to kill me!” Chuck screamed, rattling the crystals on the chandelier overhead.

“I’m not trying to kill you, dad,” Castiel said quietly. “Frankly, I think you’re gonna kill me.”

“Just tell me why, son! Why! Why did you fuck up a great opportunity just so you can come right back here and start all over? Your mother and I, we can’t support you.”

“I’m getting an apartment as soon as I can,” Castiel said, his voice even.

“That’s not answering the question!” Chuck screamed.

“I have no answers right now, dad!” He said with his arms out to the side as if to display how he only had the clothes on his back and a ratty suitcase full of extra belts, ties and sashes he’ll never need.

“Have you finally cracked, honey?” Naomi said. She flitted over to Castiel and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps you just need a drink and to sit down and rethink all this.”

Chuck held the bridge of his nose, his face now a calmer shade of pink. “There’s no room to rethink, dear,” he said in a staccato. “He screwed the fucking pouch.”

“Chuck, darling, don’t be vulgar,” Naomi said.

Chuck dropped his hands to his thighs and sighed so much that Castiel was impressed at the amount of air that his father could hold in his chest. “I’m going to the store to buy some goddamn milk.” He stormed off without his coat or umbrella, and it seemed as though the whole apartment shook when the door slammed.

After several beats of silence his mother looked at him with misted eyes. “He just needs to breath a bit, honey. We are very happy you are home,” his mother said. Castiel wanted to question it: his mother’s expression had cracks in it, and she had an ingenuine smile. “West Point is overrated. New York missed you. We missed you,” she said.

“Thanks mom,” Castiel said quietly. He didn’t believe her.

“I’m going to sleep,” Naomi said. It was 6 pm.

**Raindrop**

Castiel pulled out a box of cigarettes and a zippo from his pocket. He was almost out. Only three cigarettes left. On the train ride into the city, he smoked like a chimney.

He sat on the windowsill with his feet secure on the fire escape while the wind cut through his coat. His tie got caught in the wind too, and he loosened it when he felt it contract and begin to choke him like a snake. No more ties, he thought to himself, no more cufflinks or hair gel or military boots.

As he sat on the windowsill, he heard the song of the city. The pigeons balking on the powerlines, the heavy footsteps of leather shoes through puddles, the rain pitter pattering the metal tops of cabs squeaking to a halt on the sides of the road. He always loved the city. It felt like only yesterday that he was a tiny child facing the world, staring up at the massive skyscrapers, hearing his father speak of the American dream.

“Fuck,” Castiel muttered to himself between a cigarette. “I need to find a job.”

**Rhapsody in Blue**

Growing up with his parents and four brothers was ingrained in Castiel like a scar. All his trauma came back, and so did all the abuse he received from Luke, his older brother, whose real name was Lucifer like a dumb cosmic joke. His eyes shot open at exactly 5:30 A.M. and he sat up in bed so fast he got whiplash. This marks thirty minutes before the house was awake. Bathroom, he said to himself. Get in before Luke stuffs your head in the toilet. Then, toast. Get the toast before Luke can push you into the cabinet and lock the door.

Castiel’s heart pounded. Then, slowly, he realized that the house was empty save for his parents. He was the only one in the nest. Luke was living over by Time’s Square, running his advertisement company which for sure sold cocaine to mothers and their infants. He had four kids himself. Castiel wondered how cruel his children were, or if they were traumatized like him.

His brother Gabriel was way out in California, working as a standup comic most definitely exploiting embarrassing stories about his kids. Michael was in Levittown, commuting into the city to work as a well-hated tax lawyer. And, of course, Jimmy had his wholesome family with his eight-year-old, Claire. Castiel ran a hand through his hair and lied back down slowly.

The military seemed like his outlet, his circuit. Castiel wanted to sign off, leave the family, sail off to some country across the sea. He’d avoid that whole American life. The wife, the kids, the penthouse, the 9 to 5. That life never sat well with him; it made his stomach flip with nerves.

Castiel slept for a little while more, only waking up when he smelled bacon wafting from the kitchen. He dressed himself and shuffled down the hall where he saw his mother and father sitting at the table. They were the quintessential couple. His mother wore a knee length dress that buttoned up to her neck, and his father wore a suit and tie. As a writer, he doesn’t leave the house much, but he dressed like a businessman anyway. This, Castiel presumed, was probably a way for Chuck to show him what a real man should be. A proper man, a good husband. Castiel wore a wrinkled white shirt, and a loose blue tie.

“I thought you were going to sleep all day,” his father said, a cup of coffee to his lips.

“It’s only nine, dad,” Castiel said. He slugged over to the coffee maker on the stove and poured himself a cup. He turned and leaned against the counter, watching his mother complete the daily crossword and fiddle with a grapefruit while his father chewed on bacon.

“I’m going out and I’m not sure when I’ll be back,” Castiel mentioned as he lifted his cup to his lips.

“He should have a curfew,” Naomi said to Chuck, then to Castiel. “You should have a curfew.”

“He’s a young man,” Chuck said. “Maybe if he stays out late, he will find a girl.”

Castiel just pursed his lips and stared down into his coffee.

Naomi put down the daily paper with excitement. She propped her elbows onto the table. “We could set you up with someone! I know a lot of girls in the building.”

Looking up at his mother, Castiel had to suppress an embarrassed smile as he took another sip of coffee. “No, mom, that’s okay. I’m gonna go find a job.”

Naomi clapped excitingly but Chuck slammed his mug on the table. Drops of coffee splashed out and stained the placemat. “You were going to have a great job. Now you want some other job? I say, why not fully commit to being a homeless, jobless vagabond. You already ruined your future!”

Castiel set his empty coffee cup down in the sink and practically slid out of the kitchen. “I’ll see you two later.”

Chuck seethed but held his tongue.

“But, hun, I made you toast!” Naomi said after him.

“I’m alright ma!” Castiel said as he grabbed his coat and swung open the front door.

**Papa Loves Mambo**

Castiel was born in the city. And it was booming. He could feel it in his bones. The art in the streets, the smiles, the musicians were all blooming and expressing their talent. Despite everything, he was happy to be back. He knew the city like the back of his hand. He saw it like a song. There was a woman walking with red kitten heels and each step she made was a staccato, a B5 over and over. She wore a blue dress that swayed in the wind and was dotted with bits of rain. It was still misting from the night before. The woman looked at Castiel and winked, a smile spread across her red lips. Castiel looked down at his shoes. The cab’s horns sounded like saxophones, mixing and weaving within each other in the chaos of traffic. He turned the corner, fully realizing that he had no idea where he was going. He headed towards the subway.

He descended into the station, instantly hearing the sounds of home. It was a local band that had been around since he was a baby. They’ve been playing in this subway for years and years. The metallic, golden sound of a trumpet rang out and echoed through the stairwell. The sounds of the squealing subway trains harmonized with the sound of drums. A tambourine chimed in. Castiel smiled widely as he turned the corner and saw the band.

_Papa’s looking for mama, but mama is nowhere in sight!_

Then the trumpet hit four notes in succession and coins practically flung themselves into the hat the band had set up before them. Castiel he tossed in a dime.

With the distant trumpets still ringing in his ears, Castiel boarded a train going downtown. He wanted to go to Washington Square Park to see the musicians there. There were often men playing piano or women singing. Greenwich Village was also where all the best bars and coffeehouses were.

He stopped in the first one he remembered from high school. His brother Gabriel used to take him and Jimmy out to see entertainers long before he made it big as a comedian. It was a cafe called The Roadhouse. Castiel was longtime friends with the owner, Ellen. She was like a mother to him and Jimmy. She put up with Gabriel’s shit really well. Jo, her daughter, was around his age. Castiel, Jimmy and Jo used to sit in the corner and drink hot coco while Gabriel attempted to practice his standup to all the random patrons. They must have thought the funniest thing about Gabe was that he was a scrawny little teenager sweating from nerves, wearing a fancy tan suit and a paperboy hat. He remembers laughing till his sides hurt though, when Gabe would look over at him and do his signature wink. Ellen, although she would only admit it if she was drunk, always knew he’d be famous.

She was there now, cleaning the counter, chatting calmly with a patron behind the counter who was enjoying a morning coffee. “Well I’ll be damned,” Ellen swore when she saw him and then came around the counter. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

“Hi Ellen,” Castiel said. Ellen crossed the counter and enveloped him in a hug. When she pulled away, she whacked him in the head.

“Oh!” Castiel exclaimed, touching the side of his head.

“That’s for worrying me sick. I never thought the military was good for you,” Ellen said with her hands on her hips.

“Shouldn’t you be congratulating me then? I’m out,” Castiel said, his hands out in front of him as if they were shields.

Ellen slapped his shoulder, gentler this time. “And I sure am proud of you for that, kiddo. I’m glad you didn’t lose your head.”

“How’s the place? Where’s Jo?” Castiel asked.

Ellen shrugged her shoulders. “She’s out with her friends. Of course, she’s giving me a goddamn migraine, but I can’t stop the girl. What are you doing here?”

Castiel signed and dropped his shoulders. “I’m gonna need more coffee to tell you that.”

Ellen smiled and pinched his cheek. “Go sit.”

Castiel followed Ellen to the counter. He shed his coat and placed it on the stool next to him then sat and pressed his forehead to the table.

“Oh, don’t be so whiny,” Ellen said. She placed a white mug in front of Castiel and poured some coffee up to the brim. “I don’t see you for two years and now you’re here looking like something the military coughed up. Well, literally. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I need a job,” Castiel said as he lifted his head and cupped the mug in his hands. “I want to be a pianist.”

“A what now?” Ellen teased. 

“A piano player, Ellen,” Castiel said.

Ellen put her hands up in surrender, then regarded Castiel closely. A smile slowly bloomed on her face. “You’re good. I remember seeing you play. You go to another universe. Didn’t know you’d actually wanna do that professionally, though. Good for you.”

“Can I play here?” Castiel asked.

Ellen looked taken aback. She whistled. “You really just skip to the fine details don’t you, kid?” Castiel nodded.

Ellen looked at him and sighed. “Castiel, we don’t have a piano; you know how much those cost? And look at this place,” Ellen held out her arms. Castiel looked around. There was a guy with coffee who looked very hungover as if he’s been out at clubs since 6 pm yesterday and just stumbled in here to come up for air. There was another creep who sipped water slowly in the corner, watching Ellen closely. Castiel saw Ellen glare at him and he quickly looked at the ceiling. “There’s not much going on here.”

“What are you talking about? This is great!” Castiel said.

Ellen rolled her eyes at him. “Look kid, I want to help you. I really do. But this place is just not a place for a piano player or whatever.”

“Pianist.”

“Right. It’s just not the kind of stuff we do here. We don’t even have a stage. We get bad singers and rookie comics. That’s all our notoriety can get us. Believe me, I love this place, but it ain’t right for you. You need more Castiel. With your talent and all.”

Castiel noted her compliment with a small smile then finished his coffee. He slumped down on the table. “Where should I go then? Ellen, I need money. I cannot, and I mean cannot stay with my parents. Especially my dad. I’m gonna tear my hair out soon enough.”

“Why not go to Biggerson’s?” Ellen said.

Castiel groaned. “No way,” he said. “Too many kids.”

“Good burgers though.”

“I suppose.”

“How about, now here me out,” Ellen said. She walked around the counter and stood next to Castiel. She whipped her towel over her shoulder. “Swayze’s Bar. Huh? Lee might like you.”

“Lee?”

“The owner. Yeah, sure, it’s a hip new place. All the young people are going there to be all rebellious. But, hey maybe a pianist will be a fun mix up.”

“I can’t play at a dance club, Ellen,” Castiel said. “I’m not exactly “hip,’” Castiel said with air quotes.

“Okay,” Ellen held up her hands. Then, she fell silent. She seemed to be deep in thought and when she looked at him, a strange look was in her eyes. “Tell you what,” she began. “There’s a fairly new place just a few blocks over. It just reopened under a new name about a year ago. Called Campbell’s. Nice place. I know the owner; he’s a nice guy. He might very well say the same thing I said to you or he might give you a chance. I’ll put in a good word for you if you want.”

Castiel sat up straight, “You’d do that?”

“Don’t wear it out. And you better go to Biggerson’s first, young man, don’t you make me go off doing favors for you for nothing.”

“I will, Ellen,” Castiel said. He got up off the stool and gathered his coat. “Thank you.”

“Go there around ten tonight. I’ll see to it that the guy is expecting you.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said.

Ellen patted his cheek then went behind the counter again. “You better come around here more often, kid, I really thought you were gonna end up dead by the Soviets.”

Castiel just shook his head and put his coat on. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

As Castiel opened the door to leave, Ellen called out to him. Castiel turned. “You really dropped out of West Point to be a piano guy?”

Castiel’s face felt hot, nerves slammed in his chest. He just simply nodded. Ellen nodded in return and got back to work. Castiel left and walked back out into the wind and rain. 

**Maybellene**

Castiel stopped at several places in Greenwich. Biggerson’s, Gunner’s, Village Vanguard, really anywhere in the neighborhood. He even stopped by Swayze’s to just see what it was like. He was told the same thing. _Piano is too slow, people want to dance not fall asleep, people want to laugh not contemplate their existence. War’s over kid; business is booming and we’re in the epicenter. We got talents from all over the country and you ain’t one._

Castiel found it funny how people still mention the war as if it’s ongoing, or as if it ended yesterday and not over ten years ago. For so long in Castiel’s twisted dreams he wished of a war, dreamed of being a soldier, thought it was the most honorable gig in the universe. Now, he wants nothing to do with it.

Around 9:45, he entered Campbells. The place was packed with people. There were young couples, and a few single men and women who eyed each other up. Castiel tried to stay to the back wall of the place and out of anyone’s gaze. A Chuck Berry song blasted through the crowd. A band was covering one of his songs. The singer was almost screaming into the silver microphone.

_Why can’t you be true!_

A whole percussion was behind him. Guitars, base, a drummer, even someone with a maraca. Castiel couldn’t help but smile. The music filled him like helium, and he lifted to the ceiling.

His eyes were drawn to the piano in the corner of the stage. Castiel felt his fingers twitch. The maraca player occasionally swayed over to the piano and fiddled some high keys to sew into the song.

He decided he needed a drink if he wanted to pitch himself to the owner of the bar. Ellen hadn’t mentioned it’s popularity. It was no Swayze’s, a huge dance floor and a big stage. It was humble.

He began to weave through the crowd, between couples dancing or kissing, between single people mingling. A few women gave him interested looks but he did not return them. He made his way to the bar and practically threw himself against it.

The bartended turned around. He was young man; maybe one or two years younger than Castiel himself. His smile was radiant, and his expression was flustered from working under the lights all night. After a day of rejection, the smile, and whoever this man was, was like a breath of fresh air. “What can I get for you?” The man said, a towel in his fist. He leaned against the counter and his smile softened. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing tan muscle. Castiel had to lean closer to the guy because he could barely hear anything over the band.

“Um,” Castiel said as he stared. “Anything.”

The bartender huffed a laugh and lifted his eyebrows. “How ‘bout a Tom Collins,” he said. “It’s a pretty manly drink but has some excitement in it. I’ll make it strong for you. Looks like you need it.”

Castiel simply nodded, not knowing at all what he just agreed to. The bartender spun around and started concocting whatever the drink was that was named after whoever that guy was. Back at West Point, Castiel never went to parties or drank. It wasn’t the place for that, especially with the promise of a prestigious military position breathing down everyone’s neck. However, Castiel smiled as he thought: This was his chance to live his life. Be a little dissolute.

The man with the smile returned and placed a tall glass in front of him. It had lemon slices halfway down into the drink and for all Castiel knew, it looked like sparkling water. “I left out the cherry. I hope you don’t mind. I ran out making Pink Squirrels,” the man said with an eyeroll.

Castiel wanted to ask him his name. He felt as though he was getting wrapped up in the intoxication of everyone else in the room. The bartender had these green eyes that reminded Castiel of nothing he’s ever really seen or loved before. They were like a forest. He only saw flashes of them in the dim light of the bar, but he wanted to see more. The man had sandy hair and freckles- _my god, so many_ \- like he had grown up on a farm.

The man must have noticed his staring, because he gave him a strange look as he prepared another pink drink for a blonde woman behind the counter. Castiel looked away quickly; his eyes sailing down to his drink. He took a sip and made a face. The bartender did make it strong after all. Castiel looked up at the man again. He was already watching him, a hint of a smile on his face, then he winked.

Behind Castiel, the band erupted into _Johnny B Good_.

**Humoresque**

The next morning, Castiel nearly escaped the apartment without a scratch. Naomi came and straightened his tie. “Do good today,” she said. Castiel thought she had no idea what she was talking about, which was okay. 

He ran to catch a subway and ended up being the first customer of the day at The Roadhouse. Before he opened the door, he relieved the discomfort around his neck and loosened his tie.

“We’re barely open, Castiel,” Ellen said, then poured him some coffee, contradicting herself. Castiel sat at the counter and tossed Ellen a quarter. “How was last night?” Ellen asked.

“What?” Castiel said mid-sip.

Ellen gave him a blank look. “Did you go to Campbells?”

Castiel placed his mug back on the table. “Oh,” he said. “I did.”

“Well?” Ellen said. “Are you the new classical music star of New York?”

“I was supposed to ask, wasn’t I?” Castiel said, feeling anxiety bubble in him.

Ellen dropped her palms down on the table and sighed. “Did you not talk to the owner?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Were you blitzed?”

“No!” Castiel said. “I had one drink then I went home on the subway.” This was true, the drink was strong and having eaten next to nothing all day Castiel had felt the roll of alcohol in his head, the slow build of fragmented memories. He had tipped the bartender the normal amount so as to not show he favored him over anyone else in the room. His parents didn’t notice he was home so late which was a blessing. “Who’s the owner?” he asked as casually as he could surmount.

“His name’s Winchester. Young guy. I think he’s a snot-nosed kid, but people say he’s real easy on the eyes. My daughter sure thinks so, god help her,” Ellen said and rolled her eyes.

“I think I did talk to him,” Castiel said.

“Well, did you introduce yourself?”

“Shit.”

“You’re awful at this. Maybe the Soviets should have taken you out after all.”

Before Castiel could respond, there was a slam of a door behind him. “Mom!” a young girl yelled out and stomped across the room. Castiel turned to see Jo stalking up to the counter. “Did you call Mrs. Braeden and tell her to keep her daughter away from me?”

Ellen responded without a second’s hesitation. “Lisa is too old for you to hang out with and you know it. She’s taking you to all the clubs. I heard last night you went to a Copacabana,” Ellen yelled across the cafe. A hungover man who was previously asleep woke up with a grunt.

“Stay out of my life!” Jo said then noticed Castiel sitting right next to where she was standing. “Castiel! You’re back? I thought you were dead.”

“Why did everyone think I was going to die?” Castiel said as Jo jumped forward and wrapped him in a hug.

“We are not done arguing young lady,” Ellen said. “No more clubs. You do your studies. You’re going to college, you hear me?”

“I’m eighteen Mom,” Jo said, then seemed to back down a bit. “I’m going home.”

“Yeah you better go,” Ellen said. “And you stay there, you hear me.”

Jo stuck her tongue out at Ellen then left the cafe. Ellen just shook her head disapprovingly. “Back to you,” she said and turned her authoritative eye onto Castiel.

“Okay, okay. You know what, I’ll go right now!” Castiel said. He got up off his stool and chugged the rest of his coffee.

“Introduce yourself this time, you idiot,” Ellen said with a smile.

**Songs without Words**

Castiel walked across the park then down a couple blocks until he was met with the sign for Campbells. During the nighttime, the sign was illuminated, and lights also tangled around the railing next to the stairs going down. Everything was turned off now, but there was an open sign at the window. Castiel took a deep breath, went down the stairs and opened the door. A bell above him announced his arrival. During this time of day, the bar looked incredibly different. It looked bigger, for one. That was probably because last night there was so little breathing room between all the dancing people.

Lights lined up above the bar, booths were against the back wall. Round tables were spread out in the room with ashtrays and wooden stools accompanying them. During the night, when the place was full of energy, the owner must push all the tables to the sides to make room for a dancefloor. The piano called Castiel’s name again. It sat, quite lonely, on the small platform. There was no one up there now. In fact, the place was quiet save for the four or five people who occupied some tables. They slowly smoked cigarettes and were scribbling away into notebooks. They drank coffee; the steam from their mugs mingled with the cigarette smoke.

At the bar where he sat last night, there was a young woman with red hair and the man again. He was even more gorgeous now that the lights of the room weren’t dim. He was stripped down to a gray t-shirt, and he looked so much more relaxed and comfortable than he was last night. The two were chatting and cleaning glasses. Castiel forced himself to move forward and approach the bar.

“Hello,” he interrupted. The redheaded woman and the bartender looked over at him. “I was wondering if I could talk to the owner, Winchester?”

The red headed woman pursed her lips and turned away. She gathered a couple glasses and went to the back room. Castiel was left with the man with the green eyes. “That would be me,” green-eyes said as he flung his towel onto his shoulder and put two hands on the bar. “Got a problem?”

Castiel’s eyes widened. “Oh no! No! Of course not. No problem. I just, I…” He felt like his tongue was trying to crawl down his throat. Castiel never stutters, why is he stuttering. He cursed himself.

“What?” Winchester said. Then, seeing Castiel’s nerves clearly written on his face, he softened. “I’m messing with you. I go by Dean by the way.”

“Dean,” Castiel repeated.

“You were here last night, right? Tom Collins,” Dean said as he began to clean a glass again. Castiel ignored the way his stomach fluttered at the realization that Dean remembered his drink. He sat on the same bar stool as last night.

“That is correct,” He said simply. “My name is Castiel. I believe my friend Ellen spoke to you about me.”

Dean looked puzzled for a second. He narrowed his eyes at Castiel, then realization dawned on his face. “Right. The piano guy.”

“Pianist.”

“What did you call me?”

“It’s a person who plays piano professionally,” Castiel said, his face stoic.

Dean seemed like he was hiding a smile. “Right. Of course. I figure you’re pretty well known then. Famous?”

“Oh,” Castiel said. “I wouldn’t classify myself as such. More of an aspiring musician.”

“Ah,” Dean said. “And you had Ellen speak with me why?” Dean’s tone caught Castiel off guard. He was used to people who spoke their mind or didn’t at all. Dean seemingly switched from friendly to all business in the blink of an eye.

Castiel cleared his throat and stood his ground. If this “Dean” wants to play the businessman game, he can play it too, just fine. He didn’t leave military school to get shot down by some farm boy who looks, to Castiel, like a fish out of water in the city he grew up in.

“I’d like to play here,” he said, his chin high. He propped his elbows up on the bar and crossed his arms.

Dean breathed out a laugh. He wasn’t previously looking at Castiel, his eyes had been focused on the glass, but now he looked up. He had this intense look, determined in a way, and fully and unabashedly stubborn. “Aren’t there better places for that? Concert halls? Hotel lobbys? Old man clubs? I’m sure your mother would want a pianist at her weekly book club.”

Castiel’s mouth fell agape. He just watched Dean, completely dumfounded with offense. The redhead came back from the back room, carrying a jar of cherries. “Dean,” she said. “I heard that. Don’t be rude.” Dean kept his eyes on Castiel, his gaze not wavering. It was a challenging look. He turned his body toward the redhead, who slid herself behind the bar and next to Dean.

“Charlie,” Dean said, his eyes finally leaving Castiel’s. He lowered his voice. “You see this place at night. I can’t have this guy bring the mood down.”

“Clearly you woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” Castiel said matter-of-factly. Dean’s mouth closed with a click and his eyes flicked back to Castiel’s face. Charlie scoffed and she looked at Castiel with wonder.

“I like this guy,” she said with a nod, then walked away to attend to a customer.

Dean rolled his shoulders and turned to face Castiel fully. “Look, I wish I could help you, I do,” Dean placed both hands on the bar again, bracketing Castiel’s elbows on the table. “But this club fills to the brim with people in the evenings. You’ve seen it. I’m looking for performers to keep the energy up. Jazz bands, Rock n’ Roll bands, singers, whatever. No offense, but classic piano stuff is boring. Do you think Bach is gonna make people dance?”

Castiel scoped around the room again. The same people were seated, and they seemed so lost in their own worlds that they hadn’t even noticed Castiel’s presence, nor the conversation going on. There was even a man he hadn’t noticed before sitting quietly in a booth, drinking beer and looking like the better part of his life was far behind him. Castiel ventured anyway, “Why can’t I play during the daytime?”

Dean laughed again, a full sound. It made little crinkles on the corners of his eyes. Castiel liked the noise, even if it was at his expense. “To an audience of nobody?” Dean said.

Castiel frowned at him and gestured to all of Dean’s customers seated around the room. Dean rolled his eyes. “These people want silence, Castiel. That’s your name, right?” 

Castiel nodded. He found that his eyes kept slipping to Dean’s mouth, then his cheekbones then back up. Dean was an attractive guy, objectively speaking. “You have a piano,” he stated.

“Is that why you can’t play at Ellen’s place?”

Castiel nodded. “Yup.”

Dean sighed and dropped his chin to his chest. “You’d never get tips,” Dean said.

“That’s okay,” Castiel said. He’d figure something else out.

Dean lifted his head to meet Castiel’s gaze again. Castiel could tell he was deeply considering his offer. Dean’s eyes had this uncommon intensity, the set of his jaw, his lips seemed to purse just a bit. Castiel’s pulse quickened.

Charlie came up behind Castiel and butted into the conversation. “Hey, if you need money, I can offer you a job,” she said, breaking the tension.

Castiel swung around on the stool so fast that he almost fell off. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m looking for some part-time help. I own a record store. Well, records, comic books, action figures, you know. You’d fit right in. You seem like a bit of an odd ball.”

“Now you’re the one being rude,” Dean said and Castiel turned back to look at him. Dean stood up straight and bent to grab something from under the counter. He retrieved a cigarette and a lighter. He set the cigarette between his lips, lit the end, breathed in deep, then exhaled. Smoke tickled the side of Castiel’s face.

“Not at all,” Charlie said. “I’m an odd ball myself. You are too, Dean. Although you’re too self-righteous to admit it.”

Dean shrugged and glanced back at Charlie, his eyes catching Castiel’s for a split second. “I like that Superman show. Well, Sammy likes it better than me,” he said with a cloud of smoke.

“Sure he does,” Charlie smiled slyly at him.

“I would love to work there,” Castiel interjected. 

She shrugged. “Why don’t you come by right now then? I swing by here to help Dean open, but I was planning to leave any minute.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “I suppose, yes.”

Charlie smiled. Her silky red hair danced around her face. She turned and went to the back room, presumably to gather her belongings.

“Castiel,” Dean said. Castiel’s eyes shot up to the man’s in front of him. “Come by tomorrow,” Castiel caught himself watches his lips and not his eyes. He forced himself to lift his gaze minutely. “I’ll hear you play, see if the customers don’t mind, and we’ll go from there.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said after a beat.

Dean just shrugged but kept his eyes on him. “I’m doing it for Ellen, really.”

Before Castiel could respond, Charlie came back in the room. “Let’s go, sugar,” Charlie said as she walked past him, toward the door.

Castiel followed her but glanced back at Dean one last time. Dean was still watching him, sucking on his cigarette. Dean exhaled and his face was hidden behind a screen of smoke. Castiel walked up the stairs and onto the sidewalk outside.

**Mr. Sandman**

The first thing Charlie did when she opened her store for the day was place a record of The Chordette’s rendition of Mr. Sandman on the record player. The record churned away, buzzing noises in tow. The crackling of the needle jumping slightly on the ridges of the vinyl kindled with the song.

Charlie’s store was rather small, and rather narrow. But, as Castiel took another look, he saw that it went far back. The walls were decorated to the brim with record covers. Buddy Holly, Elvis, Ray Charles, Eddie Cochran. The covers were all arranged in color coordination. Reds went together, then oranges, and yellows. It took Castiel a minute to realize that it created a huge rainbow on the wall. Hanging from the ceiling were various lanterns and lamps, all illuminating the store. Mingling within were Christmas lights, bright in the middle of April. Lining the walls were boxes of records all organized alphabetically.

“Like what you see?” Charlie said, standing before Castiel and watching his eyes travel around the store, her hands on her hips. “Look over here,” she said and pointed behind her, to the front counter, where action figures were lined up in a glass shelf. Castiel walked up to it and peered inside. “You look like how the kids look when they come in here,” Charlie said, adding a laugh.

“My parents never really let me have this kind of stuff,” Castiel admitted.

“Screw that,” Charlie said, a slight scowl on her face. Castiel looked up at her inquisitively. “Every kid should get to play with this stuff.”

Castiel couldn’t help but agree. He just nodded his head.

“So, you’d be running the register,” Charlie continued. “Talking to customers, restocking, dusting, whatnot. Pretty easy.”

Castiel nodded along, his eyes still wandering catching new interesting things to look at.

“Oh, and,” Charlie added, leaning a hip against the glass counter, “Downstairs there’s some very _very_ rare stuff. That’s where I keep all my original comics. Customers have to ask to go down there. There’s also some rather…how do I put this… There are pin ups that your parents probably wouldn’t approve of.”

“Oh,” Castiel said, his eyebrows raising.

“Like I said, I keep a very special collection. And I love my collection, so please protect it. Dean, the asshole, has been saying I need a big strong man to beat up whoever tries to steal from me. I know he’s kidding though. He knows I can punch harder than any random guy on the street.”

“I believe it,” Castiel said, a small smile forming on his face.

“You really to put him in his place back there,” Charlie said, off handed.

“What?”

“Dean,” she said. “Performers are usually begging on their knees, kissing his ass trying to get a timeslot at Campbells. You stuck up to him. Only I really do that.”

Castiel’s face turned warm, “I am just passionate, I suppose.”

“So, what’s your deal?”

“My deal?”

“Yeah,” Charlie said, then gestured to him. “You’re all straight backed, proper. It seems like you’re gonna salute me or something any second. Loosen up.”

Castiel didn’t know how to answer. “I’m just trying to figure it all out, I guess.”

**Lent**

Charlie had him work a shift for a couple hours and then let him go before dinner time. He was thankful but was also begging on the inside to have Charlie tell him to stay through the evening. However, starting off a job by telling your employer all about the family drama you have is not exactly the best way to have them like you, Castiel figured. She also told him to skip tomorrow and come around the weekend in the afternoons. As much as he wanted to work, he liked the prospect that he’d be able to play at Campbells for most of the day tomorrow.

Even before he reached the front door of his parent’s apartment, he could smell the food. It’s his mother’s pot roast. She deems it her “famous” pot roast. Plucky cords of nerves slam inside his chest. A strange song produces in his head. He imagined his ring and middle finger hitting two notes, one on the heels of the other. High notes, nervous notes. It’s a song of apprehension with a strange comical tone. A disaster waiting to happen.

His mother only makes her pot roast when a woman is in the house. A significant woman. Naomi made it when Gabriel brought Kali home for the first time, and again when Michael brought Amanda; when Luke brought Casey, when Jimmy brought Amelia. Castiel’s head hurt.

He sucked in a breath and opened the front door.

In the living room, he was met with his mother sitting cross legged in a fancy dress, his father smoking a cigarette on the couch, and a woman he did not recognize sitting in a wooden chair across from them both. If Castiel didn’t know any better, he would say it would look like an interrogation. The woman was chatting amicably with his mother, but it was awkward.

His footstep struck a chord in the floor and the creak made his mother meet his eyes. “Castiel!” she exclaimed, lifting from her chair and holding her hand out to introduce the woman. “This is Daphne. She and her family moved in the building a couple months ago. I’ve been dying for you to meet her.”

Castiel’s eyes traveled to Daphne. She was a pretty woman, of course. Short, slender; her hair was silky and lightly curled, her eyes were green. She wore a blue sleeveless dress that hung right above her knees. It was tight around her waist. Pearls were lying lightly around her neck.

“Castiel,” she said, extending her hand toward him. “It’s nice to meet you. Your parents have told me so much about you. I’ve become quite good friends with your mother.”

Castiel knew his smile was strained, but he tried to look happy to see her as he shook her hand.

“I made my pot roast,” Naomi said and sent Castiel a quick, private wink. “We were waiting for you to eat.”

“Thank you,” he said. “That’s very kind of you. Shall we?”

His father groaned and muttered, “Finally…this boy is always late.”

As they all tried to ignore Chuck’s comment, they sat down at the dinner table. Naomi smiled too wide, her eyes shifting between Daphne and Castiel.

His mother’s pot roast was delicious, Castiel always knew that. He just hated what it meant.

Daphne was a kind woman. She was a nurse working at a children’s hospital. She talked highly of her parents. She mentioned her studies in Colombia University. She said please and thank you and she smiled at Castiel like he was the sweetest man on earth.

Castiel said mostly nothing. He didn’t know how well he fit into this picture. This picture of wholesome, of normal. Sitting here, his mother speaking eagerly, Daphne glowing from her praise, his father absently chewing pot roast, was trying to shove a square peg into a circular hole. Castiel couldn’t do it. He doesn’t work well with this.

After dinner, he walked Daphne through the building and to her apartment. She lived three floors below them. They stood in the elevator awkwardly. Donatello did not say a thing.

“That was very nice, thank you,” Daphne said. She smiled up at Castiel as they stood in front of her front door. Regrettably, he thought about how he didn’t invite her, how her presence caught him off guard. He blinked away the thoughts.

“You’re welcome,” Castiel said, not knowing what to do. Tonight felt like more of a date between Daphne and his parents and he felt guilty. Like he had wasted her time.

He knew he was gay a long time ago. It was Marlon Brando in _The Men._ Simple as that. He never thought there was something wrong with him, and although he felt like he should be ashamed, he could never bring himself to be.

He did, however, want to tell Daphne he was sorry about all of it.

Daphne got up on her tip toes and kissed his cheek. Castiel wasn’t sure why. He hadn’t wooed her. “See you around,” she said.

Castiel nodded awkwardly. Daphne turned, opened the door and disappeared inside.

The song he had been batting around in his head all night had quieted now, leaving him with a sinister silence that felt too cold, too lonely. He thought of sandy hair, a crooked white-tooth smile, the owner of Campbell’s. He thought of how much sun that tan skin had soaked in, how much sun it would take for that many freckles to pop up. He thought of someone else’s green eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come be nice to me (please) on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/green-eyes-and-classic-rock)


	2. Impromptu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a short, intimate piece of music that’s often improvised

"Taking a new step, uttering a new word is what people fear most."

\- Fyodor Dostoevsky.

**Waltz No. 15 in A flat major**

Castiel bounced his foot on the ground. He sat at a table in the bar, a cigarette in his hand. He tapped it idly on the ash tray. After last night, with Daphne, and after everything that has happened, he needed a cigarette. He deserved one, or more. 

It was too fucking early.

He sprung out of bed at his usual time of 5:30 am this morning but decided to stay up. He made himself toast really quick, got some coffee from a local place in the Upper East Side, betraying Ellen, who opens around 9, and then heading over to the Campbells as soon as he could. The place was open, but it was only him, a drunk in the corner and a man he didn’t recognize working the counter. He was slender, almost like a pencil, and he wore a baseball cap with red stripes down the side. He said his name was Garth. Castiel had to check twice, then another time, to make sure he was in the right place. Dean hadn’t opened that morning but Castiel was hoping that he would come by later. For now, he waited, staring at the squirrely man behind the counter and probably looking incredibly creepy.

A couple hours past. Garth got him a beer around noon. Castiel figured it would take the edge off. Garth was quite talkative, Castiel realized. He told Castiel how he works at the bar part time because Dean is a good friend and how he also works in insurance. Mostly, he talked about his wife Bess who was apparently a ray of sunshine and her sweetness was the actual cure for all forms of cancer. Castiel was actually getting interested in their conversation about Bess’s strange family, when Dean came through the back door and stepped down in the bar.

He was wearing a button-up shirt, unbuttoned all the way to reveal a white shirt that was tight on his chest. He wore old, worn in jeans. His cheeks were flushed pink from the spring chill outside.

He crossed the room, pulled his keys from his pants pocket and tucked them under the bar. He looked over at Castiel and Garth questionably. “Starting early?” he asked.

Castiel tilted his head and looked at him with confusion. Then, Dean nodded down at the beer in his hands. “Oh,” Castiel said. “I was just- “

“He’s high strung,” Garth said. “I had to give him one. He’s military or something.” Garth looked at Castiel with wonder in his expression. “Hey, can you step on a train and be able to spot all the commies in just one glance?”

Castiel scoffed and let out a laugh, “No,” he said. “And why do you think I’m military?”

Garth just about gawked at him. “Boss,” he called over to Dean, who was arranging things behind the bar and getting the register ready. “You see it too right?”

Dean’s eyes fell on Castiel and Castiel held his breath. Castiel knew he looked like a mess. He knew his hair stuck up and did whatever it wanted. He wondered if Dean thought it meant he was careless. He could see Dean counting the cigarettes in the ash tray.

Dean sucked in a breath and let it out slow; he rubbed the back of his neck. “Kinda, yeah.”

“What?” Castiel said.

“You got this tense look, man. Like you got a goddamn stick up your ass,” Dean said though a laugh.

Castiel had been taught to sit up straight. Well, he mostly taught himself after seeing the hunchback grow on his father slowly over the years.

Dean continued. “So, what, you a cadet or something?”

“I dropped out of West Point,” The honesty that spilled out of Castiel instantly made his heart pound. Heat rose from his neck to his face. Why did he feel as though he couldn’t lie to Dean? Castiel wondered if women came to this bar and felt the same way. If they spilled their guts before him as if to ask if he could come home with them, if they could have him.

The room had fallen silent. “Well, shit,” Garth said. “We got a fucking rebel in the house.”

Dean looked at Castiel with a weird smile on his face. Almost like pride. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as that kind of guy.”

Castiel almost felt like he was insulted. He tapped the side of his beer, instantly regretting that he said anything. “What do you mean?”

Dean went around the bar and crossed the room to the table where Castiel and Garth sat. “I mean, I wouldn’t have guessed you were the kind of guy to just go and drift in the wind,” Dean said as he pulled a chair over and sat down on it backwards. He rested his arms on the backrest.

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t really just “drift in the wind,’” he said, imitating Dean’s nonchalant way of speech. “I had my reasons.” Castiel wasn’t sure how accurate that was, but he acted like he had conviction.

Dean held up his hands, backing off a bit. For a moment, Castiel thought the topic would be dropped, then Garth spoke up. “Why’d you do it?”

It was exactly the question Castiel had no idea how to answer. Before he could scramble something, Dean beat him to it. “He wanted to play piano,” he said.

Garth looked at Dean wide-eyed, “You’re shitting me.”

“Hey,” Dean said. “We don’t know if he’s good or not. Could be the next Mozart.”

“Wanna bet?” Castiel said, the confidence ringing out of him from nowhere. 

It was a challenge, clear as day. Castiel lifted his chin at Dean, who sat smugly in his chair. After a tense moment, where they stared each other down, Dean just nodded like he gave up. Without a word, Castiel stood and practically marched to the stage, where the piano rested, beckoning his name. He could feel Garth and Dean’s eyes on his back.

He sat down on the stool, taking a deep breath and hiding his nerves from the men in the room. He had an audience of two and a drunk guy in the corner. Nice.

Castiel peered down at the keys before him. His brain instantly shifted into a different mode. He liked this mode; it was focused and colorful. The sight of the keys filled his chest with a kind of light billowy feeling, like he was breathing in clouds from the sky. He brought his hands up and hovered them over the first chord. Then he delves into the song.

It was a waltz. He remembers when he first learned it. He was nine years old. His piano instructor with a long nose and small glasses was tapping his knuckles with a pencil and trying to get him to position his fingers correctly. When he’d miss a note, she’d whip down the pencil on him and he’d start the song all over.

He was the only one of his siblings who learned piano, or any kind of music for that matter. Gabriel would sometimes say what he does is music because a crowd’s laughter is like music to his ears, but then Jimmy would just slap his arm. The truth was, they never really understood it. They never got why Castiel stuck with it. Naomi was going through a phase of loving classical music when Castiel was around six years old. She tried to get both him and Jimmy to attend piano lessons, but Jimmy got bored after one lesson and Naomi didn’t hold it against him. Castiel found it fascinating. He hadn’t told anyone before, but he sees it as his saving grace. It made him unique, it made him stand out from his brothers who often outshone him in so many ways. Ellen was right, when he was playing, the world went away. It was just him and the notes streaming one by one through his head and out into the world.

The song ended slow with just one final note. When Castiel moved his hands away from the keys and lowered them to his lap in the thick silence, he considered that part of the song too.

Finally, he looked up Dean and Garth. They were staring in awe. Even the drunk in the corner was watching intently.

Dean had moved in his chair to watch Castiel closer. He was sitting normally now, he knees facing Castiel, his elbows in his thighs; he propped his chin up. Garth was sprawled back in his chair, relaxed. Castiel swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling very embarrassed like he was a ten-year-old at a piano recital.

Then, Garth whistled really loud. Dean slowly stood, then he walked over to the bar and plucked something from behind the counter. Garth gave him a smile. Dean held a hat in his hand. It was just a brown cap, but it seemed to have importance. He crossed the bar and stood in front of the stage, then he set down the hat perfectly in the front, right on the edge. Castiel watched closely as Dean huffed and pulled his wallet from his pocket. He pulled out a dollar, bent over and placed it gingerly in the cap. Then, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it up.

Castiel looked down at the cap with his eyebrows high. “Thank you,” he said.

Dean shrugged, “If you get any tips, they’re all yours.”

Castiel smiled and nodded. Dean stepped up on the stage and came closer to Castiel. “I owe you an apology,” he said with earnest.

 _Oh_.

“Thank you,” Castiel repeated himself, then, “For what exactly?”

“I was a bit of an ass,” Dean said and took a pull of his cigarette. The smoke danced out of his mouth.

Castiel just shook his head, trying to convey some kind of compliment. He knew Dean wasn’t an ass and that Castiel would play till his fingers bled if Dean told him to, if Dean liked it.

Dean held out his box of cigarettes, and one of them was poking its head out. “Want one?” Dean asked.

Castiel nodded and pulled out the little cigarette, then positioned it between his lips. Dean leaned forward and lit it using the lighter in his hand. Castiel just watched him. Dean’s eyes were focused on the end of Castiel’s cigarette.

Dean clicked his lighter shut and stepped back, off the stage. Castiel took a deep breath of his cigarette and felt it fill his lungs.

“So…” Castiel said, feeling a surge of confidence shoot through him. It was the tobacco and the remaining swirls of beer in his stomach. 

"You can play here,” Dean said, turning around and meeting his eyes. “In the mornings, though.”

Castiel breathed cigarette smoke deep into his lungs. He felt it cast a spell within in. “Thank you,” he said again, like Dean had tipped him another dollar.

Dean just hummed, then went to the bar, where he began to clean glasses, clean the table, do all the things Garth would have done if he didn’t talk Castiel’s ear off in the morning.

Castiel went back to playing, occasionally feeling Dean’s eyes on him, but greatly accepting it. He could pretend Dean’s staring was like an admirer from across the bar, ready to advance forward and ask for a dance.

**Zion Hört Die Wächter singen**

Castiel played Bach. It was well into the afternoon and he was still playing in the bar. Around two or three in the afternoon, people started trickling in. Writers set themselves up at tables and Dean served them cups of coffee. A few early birds came in for beer.

The writers seemed to like the piano music. Tips were trickling in steadily, but part of Castiel didn’t care. He loved playing.

It was a slow song, and it reminded Castiel of summer.

Garth had left around one and Dean was muddling around the bar, bringing drinks to people and busing tables. Castiel liked the sounds of the bar: the metallic pinging of a spoon against a cup, Dean’s footsteps in boots, small chit chat, pens scratching against notebooks.

Dean occasionally gave him some water or a new his cigarette. He even set up on ashtray on the top of the piano. He was egging on Castiel’s bad habit but Castiel would endure fifty packs of cigarettes if it meant Dean thought about him enough to keep giving him more.

At the ends of each song, he would increase the tempo, increase the volume, push his fingers harder into the white keys. No one really noticed. He liked that. He felt as though he had sunk into the background of the place. Patrons were focused on writing or speaking softly to each other, their spirits visibly lifted.

Castiel took a break to stretch and sit idly, sipping his cup of water. He resolved to observe the people in the bar. Soon enough, Dean came sidling up next to the platform and placed his tray on the table in front, sighing and stretching his arms towards the ceiling. He had taken his button up off and only had his white shirt on. Castiel noticed his belt, noticed the way his shirt escaped from it when he stretched.

“What was that first one?” Dean said, his eyes on the people in the bar, not on Castiel. He cracked his knuckles and yawned.

“What?” Castiel asked.

“What was that first song you played for us earlier today?” Dean turned to him.

“Oh. It was a waltz.”

“A waltz?”

“A dance,” Castiel pouted. “A song you can dance to.”

“Play it again,” Dean said. It was a suggestion but Castiel felt it more of a demand.

“Of course,” he said. Castiel swung around on his seat and splayed his hands over the keys again. He pressed down and began to play Fur Elise. After about ten seconds of playing, Castiel looked over at Dean again.

Dean looked confused, like he had something in his mouth, and he was trying to identify it by its taste. “That’s not it.”

“I’m pretty sure it is,” Castiel said.

“No,” Dean said. “That’s what Sam had to learn on the piano when he was in grade school and he absolutely butchered it.”

“Sam?”

“My brother.”

“Well, I think I play it nicely.”

“Sure. I mean, I guess,” Dean tapped his foot. “But I meant that first song.”

“Oh,” Castiel said. “This one?” Castiel began to play Carol of the Bells. His family always made him play it around Christmas while they drank eggnog and chatted together like they were happy, even though all the tension in the room was held in the notes of the song. He played the chorus, when the tempo was high and familiar.

“No,” Dean said and smiled a bit. He placed a hand on his hip. “That’s a Christmas song isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “My parents love it very much.”

“They religious?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, noting how strange a question it was.

“I could tell because of your name. No offense, but what kind of name is Castiel?” Dean said, no tone of insult in his voice, in fact it was playful.

“Well, my mother is fascinated by angels, heaven, the bible, whatnot. All my siblings are named after angels. My father got sick of it so when my brother and I were born, he named one twin and my mother named the other. My brother’s name is Jimmy. I got the short end of the stick,” Castiel was surprised how easily the story came out; how easily he talked.

“It’s not a bad name,” Dean said.

“I guess,” Castiel said quietly.

“So, the first song?” Dean said.

Castiel tried not to smile at him. “Of course.”

Castiel returned to the piano and played Bach again. Not the song Dean was thinking of, once again, and Castiel liked to feel the frustration come of Dean in small waves. Dean sighed as a surrender and grabbed the tray again, placed it on his shoulder and began to walk across the bar. About halfway through the song, Castiel recognized a similar note and was able to switch songs. He blended in the waltz seamlessly. He looked over at the bar, where Dean was arranging glasses, and he caught the small smile and headshake that Dean gifted him. Castiel smiled smugly and looked back down at the keys.

After another hour or so, the bar was switching into what it usually is around the evenings. Dean informed him that their first jazz act would be on deck around 5 pm.

“Thanks,” Castiel said. “Really, for everything.”

“Don’t be all mushy now,” Dean said. “I’m still seeing if you’re worth it.”

The words rang in Castiel’s ears like a mantra.

Castiel wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He closed the piano and packed up his things.

Dean stuck around close to the platform. “You can come tomorrow if you want, by the way,” Dean said. “And don’t forget this.” Dean bent down and retrieved the hat from the stage. Inside were several dollar bills and a lot of coins. Dean seemed to count the money in his head then gave an expression of approval. “Not bad.” 

“I can really take all of this?” Castiel said as Dean held the hat out to him for Castiel to scoop out its contents.

“That’s what I said,” He said. “I win too. You seem to give me more customers, I think. This one guy stayed the whole time and ordered coffee after coffee. He usually comes just for the morning.”

Castiel looked down at wonder at the money in the hat, then opened his wallet and packed the money away carefully. “Thank you,” he said.

“No need to thank me,” Dean said, keeping the tone of indifference that he so often had. “Tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow.”

**Patricia**

Castiel heard voices outside his apartment door just like he had the night before. Dread filled him. Music played on the opposite side of the door. It was a strange song that seemed as though lyrics should accompany it. The voices inside worked as lyrics, but yet miserably off beat.

Castiel entered the apartment then wandered to the living room where he saw everyone standing and twirling wine in their glasses. His parents were there, standing between Daphne, Jimmy and Jimmy’s wife, Amelia. They were done up and lovely, all of them in their Sunday best. Castiel’s shirt was irreversibly wrinkled at the elbows after he’d been playing all day with his arms bent.

“Ah, there he is,” Jimmy said, lifting his glass to Castiel. “Always late, but we love him.” His brother laughed, a warm smile lasted on his face afterwards, and he took a quick sip of red wine. Amelia, next to him, smiled fondly at Castiel. Castiel has known her for so long that she was like a sister to him. Her and Jimmy met in middle school.

“I’m not always late,” Castiel said and began to approach where the party was central.

“Just admit it, brother. Late or not, I’m so happy to see you,” Jimmy met Castiel halfway and pulled him into a hug. “We just had to come see you after we heard the news. Sorry it’s been so long. We could have visited you at school and everything.” he said mid hug. “But, you know, Claire has been a bit of a handful.”

“You should have brought her tonight,” Naomi said, who had her arm linked to Daphne’s. Daphne gave Castiel a shy smile.

"Claire?” Jimmy said. “She’s at a friend’s house, Christy? Kelly?”

“Kaia,” Amelia provided.

“Right.”

“Glad to see she’s a social butterfly,” Naomi said.

"She’s trying,” Amelia said.

"Hello Castiel,” Daphne cut in. She stepped forward and kissed Castiel on the cheek like she had last night. “Long time no see.”

“Thank you for coming,” Castiel said, trying to produce a real smile. He hadn’t wanted to see her again; he hadn’t wanted the awkward fear of the result of them around him once more.

“Can we sit?” Chuck said impatiently. He had been quietly watching as the room had greeted Castiel. Just a drop of red was left in his wine glass.

“Gladly,” Naomi said. 

They all gathered around the dinner table and dished out pasta and spinach from the bowls set on the table. “So, Castiel, how’s the old house treating you,” Jimmy. Oh Jimmy. He hadn’t known the grenade he just threw. He would never say anything in malice, yet malice could be seen in those listening. He had always stood up for Castiel, had always pulled him along and thought he was the best person in the world. Castiel knew Jimmy was his biggest fan.

He was a bit fuller than Castiel, his face a little bit plumper from happiness and good home-cooked food made by Amelia. His hair was groomed a bit more than Castiel’s, and his eyes a steely grey, but otherwise he resembled Castiel exactly. “It’s nice to have you in the city again,” Jimmy said, saving him from having to answer his previous question.

“Thank you,” Castiel said. “It’s nice to be closer to you and Amelia. It would be fun to visit Claire sometimes.”

Amelia smiled at Castiel. “She misses you,” she said. “She misses her favorite uncle.”

“You don’t visit often enough. I’m starting to think Castiel is the only family member she likes,” Chuck said, undercutting the smooth energy in the room and creating an awkward tension.

“She loves you, Dad,” Jimmy said. “We are just busy with school and work and all,” Jimmy said. Castiel knows his twin well enough to know that he’s lying to know that Claire doesn’t visit often because Jimmy doesn’t want Chuck’s grumpiness to rub off on her in any way. Chuck just grunted and stabbed a piece of bowtie pasta with his fork.

The conversation went on to Jimmy’s job, his house, Amelia’s new appliances, new clothing stores, Daphne and Amelia bonding over jewelry, Daphne admiring her wedding ring, Chuck talking about his dumb new book. 

The night mellowed down as they all drifted into their fourth glass of wine.

During dessert, Castiel managed to slip into the kitchen and make himself some coffee. Daphne sidled up next to him. “Hey,” she said. “May I have a cup?”

“Sure,” Castiel said. “My parents don’t want me drinking caffeine after dinner. My mother thinks it’ll give me nightmares.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Daphne said. “I think it’ll sober you up.”

“Yeah that’d be nice. I don’t really like being drunk around my family,” Castiel said in all honesty. “I can’t let my guard down.”

“Why not?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

Daphne shrugged. “I’m all ears. You can try.”

Castiel grimaced. “I don’t want you to get your hopes up,” he said. “I’m sure you’re amazing, and my mother likes you a lot, but I can’t really give you what you want.”

Daphne just looked at him. “I appreciate the honesty,” she said. Castiel wasn’t sure if she understood and he didn’t think he wanted her to understand fully. “Maybe we can be friends.”

“Okay,” Castiel said.

Jimmy came in and swung a drunken arm around Castiel. Infrequent drinking made him a lightweight. “We’re going home, Clarence.”

“Why do you keep calling me that after all these years?”

“Because you’re an angel of a brother,” Jimmy said and stamped a wet kiss on his cheek. Castiel’s face scrunched up in disgust.

“Goodnight, Castiel,” Amelia said. “Maybe you can come visit soon now that you’re back in the city.”

Jimmy clapped a hand on his shoulder. “And, hey, I was proud of you for getting into West Point and now I’m proud of you for leaving, okay? I’m proud of whatever you do and whatever you decide. I want you to know that.”

Castiel swallowed thickly and nodded a silent thank you.

Jimmy and Amelia left, taking the well-mannered spirits with them.

The house became tense again. Castiel sipped his coffee slowly, wishing his brother was still here. He could always ease the tension. Jimmy, the one with the friends, the one who was good with women, the one who made people smile.

He walked Daphne home again, but she didn’t kiss his cheek.

**Rondo Alla Turca**

The next day Castiel played a quick and rather stressed Mozart piece at Campbells.

He could tell Dean was watching him. He was standing with his hip against the bar, watching Castiel’s fingers move rapidly across the keys. This was a song that took him a rather long time to learn. In the month it took him to perfect, he had bruises all over his knuckles from where his teacher thwapped him.

Each time Dean’s gaze from across the room was too much to handle, Castiel’s fingers would quicken, press harder, and the tempo increased, matching his heart beat. The conclusion of the song had a full sound, like a rich man had just finished a large meal and felt very pleased with himself.

Castiel played certain parts on a loop, extending the song however he felt like. After more than five or so minutes of him rapidly playing, he realized that Dean had manifested beside him. He stopped playing and looked up at him. The same hip that had been rested against the bar was now resting against the side of the piano. Dean placed a glass of water on the bench next to Cas. “You stressed or something?”

“What?”

“You seem angry.”

“That’s just the song,” Castiel said, taking a sip of water.

Dean nodded. “Sure,” he said. “So, nothing is going on?”

“Nope.”

“You’re kind of scaring some people, man,” Dean leaned forward and said in a hushed voice.

“Oh,” Castiel said, he looked around. People were trying to focus, but he caught a few tense glares. “I apologize.”

“It’s alright,” Dean said. “Hey why don’t I get you a drink to take the edge off and you can tell me all about it.”

“Really, nothing is wrong.”

“Beer or whiskey?”

“I don’t know.”

“Whiskey it is.”

Dean nodded towards the bar for him to follow and then headed over. Castiel sighed, shut the lid of the keyboard and followed.

Dean poured a small glass of whiskey and put some ice in it. He waited in silence for Castiel to begin the conversation even though he very much did not want to. Finally, he sighed. “I suppose I do have something on my mind.”

Dean smiled. “Tell me. As a bartender, I am also a certified therapist.”

Castiel glanced up at him. He liked to see Dean’s pearly whites come out of hiding behind his lips. “There’s this girl.”

“I knew it.”

“No,” Castiel said, feeling his stomach flip. “Not like that. My parents want to set me up with her.”

“So?” Dean said. “She pretty?”

“I suppose.”

“But, you don’t like her.”

“I can’t just begin to like someone out of nowhere. I can’t just like someone who falls into my lap, who my parents pick for me, who likes my mother’s pot roast.”

“But pot roast is delicious.”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “Her’s is quite good, but that’s not the point. Are you married? Perhaps you’d understand.”

Dean shook his head. “Never had the chance.”

“Really?”

“Yup. You’re surprised now but get to know me better and you’ll understand. I may be a handsome devil, but I got some shit.”

 _Get to know me better_. Castiel would like to.

“If you do, you don’t show it.”

Dean just shrugged and pulled out a cigarette, lit it up and breathed out the smoke. Castiel breathed in.

“It’s clear on my face, isn’t it?” Castiel said.

“What? That you’re troubled?” Dean said between his cigarette, then smiled and nodded, agreeing with himself. “You can also see it in the way you play like a maniac.”

“Sorry,” Castiel said.

“West point,” Dean stated simply, his eyes roving around the bar, anywhere else but Castiel’s face. Castiel kept his eyes steady on Dean, wanting to catch any and all minute expressions.

“What about it?”

Dean hummed. “Nothing. Just, I can’t imagine you there.”

“Why?”

“You’d be scary,” Dean said, then finally making eye contact. “All dressed up like a soldier. This suits you better,” Dean gestured toward Castiel’s clothes, the same rumbled blue tie.

“Thank you,” Castiel said, feeling his cheeks burn.

Dean shrugged. A couple beats of silence passed between them; Castiel nursed his whiskey. “I have an idea,” Dean said. “To help you win over this girl.”

“But I don’t like her,” Castiel said, the honestly coming out of him burning.

“It could impress your parents though, and she’d have so much fun she may forget you even exist.”

“Okay,” Castiel said slowly. “What?”

“My buddies and I usually go out to Swayze’s every couple of nights and go dancing.”

“Dancing? I don’t dance.”

“Partying more like. Drinking, flirting, whatever.”

“Are you inviting me?”

“Yup. And your girl.”

Castiel felt his chest hurt. He wished it could be just him. He wished it could be just him and Dean.

“We’re going out tonight,” Dean said. “Come along.”

Castiel took a small swig of his drink. The bar bustled around them. It was breaching on the busier part of the night. Dean, under the lights of the bar, looked like a halo was around him. The gold seeped into his hair, made shadows on his face, made him look young, made him look like a lovely painting. His eyes shown bright with mischief in them. “Alright,” Castiel said. “I’d love to.”

“See you tonight then.”

“Tonight.”

Dean smiled, the cigarette bobbing between his lips. Castiel didn’t know where in him that he got the courage, but he reached forward and gently pulled the cigarette from Dean’s lips then placed it between his own. He breathed the smoke in heavily, clenched it between two fingers, took a swig of whiskey, set down the glass, then notched the cigarette between his lips once more. Dean watched the movements, his expression entirely mystified and his eyes dark. Castiel turned and made his way toward the front door, properly stealing Dean’s cigarette right in front of his eyes.

He didn’t turn to see his reaction; he didn’t think he could bare it.

**Heartbreak Hotel**

Castiel headed to work the late afternoon at Charlie’s. Charlie informed Castiel that she was also planning on going to Swayze’s. “The women are gorgeous there.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s just say I’m not that into the whole American Dream or whatever the fuck. I’m not really looking for a strong handsome man fresh from school, his hair all gelled up.”

“Oh,” Castiel said, as he dusted a stack of records. “You’re…?”

“A lesbian,” Charlie said, point blank. “What are you gonna do? Call the cops?”

“Me? Jesus fuck- no,” Castiel said.

Charlie laughed loudly. “I didn’t think so.”

Charlie allowed him to call up Daphne while at work. It was short, very awkward conversation, but he managed to get her to agree to come to the club with her tonight. She seemed thrilled. Castiel had a strange thought back in his head that he was proud of himself for acting like a normal guy his age. Asking girls out, being social, going out at night. But the thought more at the forefront of his mind was that he was hoping Daphne caught the eye of some single guy in the club and they’d fall madly in love.

Charlie locked up around nine and Castiel and her strolled down the several blocks it took to get to Swayze’s bar. Before Castiel could realize it, they were chatting comfortably about movies and books. She lit up when she talked about The Hobbit.

Castiel talked about music. Mozart. Beethoven. Bach. Liszt. Charlie admitted she didn’t know much about them. Castiel loved to explain his passions and loved when he realized Charlie gave him her full attention.

They made it to Swayze’s by the time a big crowd had formed outside waiting to get in. Daphne was standing a couple feet from the door, disentangled from a group of pre-drunk young adults. Castiel called her over and her face lit up. She came up to him, got on her tip toes and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for inviting me,” she said, as if to say thank you for inviting me into your world. Although, this was not Castiel’s world. This was all Dean’s.

Charlie kissed Daphne’s hand, which she was rather confused by but otherwise flattered and flushed. They entered as a group, and Charlie said she was going to go find a table.

Daphne and Castiel stood beside each other awkwardly. “I never really do this,” Daphne said, trying to lift her voice over the Elvis song that played loudly.

“Me either,” Castiel admitted, his voice raising as well.

Daphne just smiled at him and laced her arms around his.

They immersed themselves into the crowd. Castiel was instantly overwhelmed. He walked with Daphne and they squeezed through the crowd trying to go up the counter to get a drink. Daphne went out in front, and he followed absently.

From his right a couple bumped into him, almost knocking him completely on his feet. He turned to see Dean’s face inches from his own. Dean had one foot between Castiel’s and a hand on his shoulder to steady himself. He had his other arm wrapped around the waist of a woman with waves of brown hair.

“Cas!” Dean said, his voice drunken.

_Cas._

Dean straightened up; the girl knitted to his side settled herself as well. Dean let go of Castiel’s shoulder but didn’t step back very much. The music was loud. “You came!”

Castiel nodded. Daphne swung around and stood beside him, ready to be introduced. “This is Daphne. Daphne, Dean.” he said, gesturing to each of them. Daphne held out her hand for Dean to shake. Dean winked at her. Castiel wished the wink was exclusive, that one had to pay for it.

“This is Lisa,” Dean said, and Lisa stepped in front of him. “Lisa, this is Cas.” She was a pretty woman, and her and Dean made a good pair, Castiel supposed. He wasn’t sure what she was to him and had to stop his brain from hurtling towards conclusions.

“Nice to meet you,” Castiel said. He reached out and she shook her hand. He felt Dean’s eyes on him.

“You need a drink?” Dean asked.

“Yes,” Castiel said. “Please.”

Dean disappeared, and Lisa curled her arm around Daphne’s, pulling her to the dance floor.

Dean must have been able to tell by Castiel’s face that he needed a drink, just like he could hear it in the way he played earlier.

Dean resurfaced from the crowd with two martinis. He held them up by his face, with a big smile, then it dissipated when he realized Castiel was alone. “You were ditched?”

“Yes. I think I was,” Castiel said, then took the martini from Dean’s hand. Their fingers brushed. “I’ve never really done this,” Castiel said.

“Taken a girl out?”

“Well…yes. Nor gone to clubs.”

“You’re serious?”

Castiel nodded.

“What do you do then?” Dean asked. Castiel was surprised Dean was sticking around. Lisa and Daphne were far gone, but Dean could probably find them easily. He stuck around and took a sip of his martini, his eyes steady on Castiel.

Castiel was caught off guard once against by Dean’s casual prying; his questions that seemed to be woven in perfectly yet also out of nowhere. “I don’t do much actually,” Castiel said.

“Oh, come on, you have to have hobbies. Anything. I know you play,” Dean said, his voice loud over the music. He was standing quite close to Castiel and leaned in minutely when he talked. Their chests were almost aligned, but Dean still held back to look at Castiel’s face, inches away.

“I do play,” Castiel said, leaning into Dean’s ear and speaking above the music. “I read. I take walks.”

“Sounds nice,” Dean said. “I do this.”

“Drink and party?” Castiel said.

“It fits me,” Dean said with a shrug.

Just then the band stopped a song and in the quiet interval between, Lisa and Daphne appeared again. Lisa yanked Dean to the dance floor, and he followed after a quick glance at Castiel. Their eyes met, and he had the ghost of a smile on his lips. Daphne directed Castiel to a table in the back, where they found Charlie sitting, and drinking a beer.

“I thought you’d never come,” she said. “Jesus, for a second I thought you’d be like Dean, out the whole time, dancing with whoever.”

“Lisa,” Castiel corrected.

“Oh, it’s Lisa tonight. Interesting. Last night it was Cassie,” Charlie said.

“Oh,” Castiel said, and he could hear the annoyance drip from his own words. “So Dean’s kind of an unattached, womanizer kinda guy?”

“No way. Dean’s so full of shit,” Charlie said. “He’s like a teddy bear.”

Castiel didn’t know what to make of that.

“I got you guys drinks by the way,” Charlie said, pushing over some clear drinks. Vodka must be in them. “I see you already have some. But it’s on Dean’s tab. Don’t worry.”

“Dean’s tab?” Daphne said.

“He won’t mind. He’s good friends with Lee, the owner.”

“He seems to be good friends with everyone,” Castiel said.

“You jealous?” Charlie said, giggling with the beginnings of intoxication.

 _Yes._ Castiel thought. So, this must be what this is then, the thrill in his chest. He wants to be like him. Dean was this man who appeared seemingly out of nowhere, yet knew Ellen and Jo, owned a bar close to hers, close to the very place Castiel grew up, the places he knew well. Dean seemed to rule the city, the city that Castiel used to rule because it was a part of him and vice versa. It frustrated him. He’d been gone two years and yet this man had filled his place. He was everything Castiel wanted to be, kind, warm, smart, stubborn, gorgeous.

Castiel just sat back in his chair and sipped his drink. Daphne and Charlie talked pleasantly, flirtations rolling off of Charlie like she was born for this. Daphne seemed to jive well with everyone but him.

His eyes searched the crowd of dancing people and, as if it was dumb fate, the crowd split, and he saw Dean with his arms around Lisa. He held her loosely, as if she was fragile, or as if he was shy. Castiel wasn’t sure. She reached up and kissed him. Castiel didn’t want to watch, but he couldn’t keep his eyes away.

“I’m going out for a smoke,” Castiel said quickly, his eyes still on Dean.

“Are you okay?” Charlie said. Daphne gave him a blank look.

“Yes,” Castiel said. “I’ll be a second.”

He pushed through people and out the door. Outside, it seemed as though time sat idle, waiting for the morning again so it can continue to tick by. He pulled his box of cigarettes out of his pocket, lit one and breathed deep.

It wasn’t that he was angry. No. Jealous? No. He just wished Dean didn’t exist, perhaps. He leaned back against the brick wall behind him, exhaled, and saw the smoke trickle out like a phantom in the night.

The metal door to Swayze’s slammed and a figure came out. He looked a little dizzy, like he couldn’t quite find the stairs in the dark. Although the lights illuminated them, being drunk turns the lights out anyway. In the light, Castiel could recognize the tan skin, the button-down shirt rolled up to the elbow, then the hair and profile.

Dean got to the top step and let out such a long breath of air that it was accompanied by something like a growl or a groan. He then shook out his arms and stretched. Finally, he looked over at Castiel and met his gaze. Castiel instantly looked down at his shoes.

“Hey,” Dean said. “I was wondering where you went.”

“Really?” Castiel said. He sucked in another mouthful of smoke from his cigarette.

“I invited you, didn’t I?” Dean said, and Castiel nodded slowly. “Gimme,” he stepped closer and mimicked the act of confidence Castiel had earlier. He snatched the cigarette from Castiel’s lips then took a long pull from it. To Dean, it seemed as though he needed to rack up no confidence at all in order to do what Castiel felt was a one-time dare he challenged himself with. Dean leaned against the wall next to Castiel.

“You’re right,” Castiel said. “This does fit you.” Castiel nodded his head toward the club. He thought of Lisa stretching up to kiss Dean.

“Does it?” Dean asked, then he handed the cigarette back to Castiel. Castiel placed it back between his lips. The paper was a bit damp.

“You said it does.”

“I don’t always say what I mean.”

“What did you mean then?” Time stopped.

Dean sighed and scuffed his boots against the sidewalk. “I get tired of it.”

“Well I understand that,” Castiel said. “I’m exhausted and I barely do it in the first place.”

In the silence that proceeded, Castiel thought of anything else but Lisa and Dean. His brain went to playing piano, to Dean speaking to him, to their rapid-fire responses, to the waltz he played, or rather didn’t. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something, actually,” Castiel said.

“What’s that?” Dean grabbed the cigarette from Castiel’s hand again. Dean’s confidence floored him. Dean took a breath and smoke went between them.

“Sorry about yesterday.”

“What?”

Castiel took the cigarette back, then shook his head, realizing that he was being ambiguous. “You wanted me to play that song and I kept avoiding it.”

Dean hummed in recognition. “Oh yeah. It was a waltz or whatever, right? You were avoiding it?”

“I didn’t mean to.” _I just wanted to keep you talking._

“It’s okay. You don’t have to take requests. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” Dean said and then ran a hand through his hair. Under the light of the streetlamp, Castiel could see it was spikey and wild and as drunk as he was.

“I should listen to you though.”

Dean scoffed, then looked at him. Castiel could just barely make out his eyes. “You don’t have to.”

The tension was palpable. Castiel wasn’t sure if it was awkward or if it was one sided. He looked over at Dean and Dean was relaxed, leaning against the back wall, his eyes slowly panning over Castiel’s face.

“How’d you get your bar?” Castiel said abruptly, realizing how little he knew when he wanted to know everything.

Dean smirked and looked down at his shoes. “When I moved to the city, I met a guy named Benny. He took me under his wing. Can I have that?” Castiel passed the cigarette to Dean. “Then he got married to his girl and moved away to Louisiana.”

“He gave you the bar?”

“Yup,” Dean said. He wouldn’t give the cigarette back. Castiel watched his jaw and the hollowing of his cheeks as he inhaled again, then again. “What about you? Did you grow up in the city?”

After a beat, Castiel still didn’t know what to say. “Are you trying to get to know me?” The response came out of him undetected.

“Is that not what we’re doing here?” Dean said. Castiel plucked the cigarette from Dean’s hand and Dean looked offended. “So, you can ask me questions about my life, but I can’t know nothing about yours?”

Castiel panicked now and he couldn’t stop. “It’s scary,” Castiel mumbled, then finished off the cigarette with one more strong breath in.

“What do you mean?”

“Making friends.”

Dean breathed out a laugh. It sounded sour, tainted. “We don’t have to be friends, Cas,” Dean said. “I’m just passing the time.”

“You should go back to Lisa,” Castiel said, instantly regretting however that sounded to Dean.

Dean sighed and ran a hand down his face. “Whatever,” He pushed away from the wall and started walking down the stairs to the club. Then, as an afterthought, he said, “We’re closed tomorrow by the way.”

“On Sunday?” Castiel said.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Dean said. “I ain’t religious. I just have something to do. Garth goes to church; Charlie has her store. I just keep it closed Sundays.”

Castiel just stared.

“So, don’t come to play tomorrow,” Dean said, then turned towards the door.

“You called me Cas,” Castiel called out to him, out of nowhere. The thought jerked out of him, and he had to say it before Dean disappeared. 

Dean stopped and looked over at him. “And?”

“Nothing. No one’s- well, I mean- no one has really ever called me that.”

“Well consider yourself lucky. Or, unlucky depending on how you see it.” Dean said, then went down the stairs and back into the club.

Castiel stood dumbstruck. He still held the tiny, spent cigarette in his hand. He dropped it, smashed it into the street just to see the dark dot it made, then went back into the club.

He didn’t want to go back in just yet.

He backed up against the wall and pulled out another cigarette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (((((Yes I basically stole a whole ass scene from call me by your name (if you know you know) what can I say i'm a basic white girl)))))
> 
> Come be nice to me (please) on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/green-eyes-and-classic-rock)


	3. Crescendo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the loudest point reached in a gradually increasing sound

“Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend.”

-Albert Camus

**Jeux d’eau**

Castiel awoke in his childhood bedroom. It was too early compared to how late he turned in last night. He had walked Daphne home, all the way to her apartment. She raved about Lisa, about Charlie, about Dean, about that little world they were both cracking into. 

Castiel began to pack up his things in his old childhood room. He had shared the room with Jimmy for most of his life and truthfully, it was more Jimmy’s than his. just how his whole life was more Jimmy’s than his sometimes. Jimmy was the outgoing one, the even-tempered one, the good mannered, the godly one. Jimmy had three bibles on their shared bookshelf. One he marked up with blue pen, one he brought everywhere when he wanted to reread it, and one kept in pristine condition with golden sides and a thin pink ribbon bookmark. Castiel’s side of the shelf had Albert Camus, Dostoyevsky, Hemingway, and Oscar Wilde.

He muddled around his room, carding through old clothes, dusting shelves, cleaning the windows, sitting on the fire escape and smoking a cigarette.

Truthfully, he didn’t know what to do with himself. Campbells was closed. Dean was somewhere, doing whatever it is he does.

He was expected to be at Charlie’s at around four.

At around noon, Naomi shuffled into his room. “Do you have those pain killers?”

“We’re out,” Castiel said. He had needed them this morning due to his slight hangover. “Do you feel okay?”

“I’m going back to bed.”

“Ma.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

He followed his mother to her bedroom. Chuck had already gone early in the morning to wherever he goes. Inside, the room was cluttered. Usually, it was vacuumed, dusted, tidy and smelled of roses. Now, there were dishes on the nightstand from breakfast and dinner the night before. There was food still on them, clothes on the ground, the curtains were drawn and the bed unmade. “Mom,” Castiel said. “Do you want help cleaning or something?”

“It’s not a big deal, Castiel, it’s not even that messy,” she crawled back into bed.

“Have you been eating?”

“Everything tastes like shit.”

“Well no wonder you have a headache.”

“Fuck you.”

Castiel sighed and began to pick up the clothes from the ground. He piled them into the hamper, then wander to the dresser and organized the drawers. “Do you want me to read to you?”

“Stop talking,” his mother grumbled into her pillow. “Get out.”

Castiel looked over at her and only saw a nest of brown hair peeking out from under the blanket. “I’ll pick up more pain meds from the store, yeah?” His mother said nothing.

So, this was something to do.

**Wake Up Little Susie**

This was a frequent occasion. His mother’s mood always changed faster than the weather. She would feel better, be bouncing off the walls, then she’d crash, and Castiel was left to pick up the pieces. Over the years, he’s done everything to help her. Out of his own pocket, he helped her see doctors and psychiatrists, and he paid for whatever treatments she agreed to. But nothing seemed to work.

It was precisely the reason why he was the closest to his mother out of all his siblings. It was love and hate really. It drove her crazy, how he’d misbehave or pull mischief or get into fights when he was younger. But he was the one who always seemed to pick her up when she’d fall into these moods where she hated the world and couldn’t leave her bed. Jimmy would be busy with his studies, Gabriel was already off in California when it had gotten bad, and Luke and Michael were never going to do it on principal. Chuck, of course, was barely in the family to begin with.

There was a pharmacy down the street just a couple blocks away. He stepped in and went straight to the isle with the pain killers. Castiel knew exactly where they were, as he’d been coming to this pharmacy since he was a kid. He glanced around the store. It was so blue, a baby blue, and so vividly reminded him of his childhood. A song by the Everly Brothers was playing. It was bustling with people; all the rain must be making the people sick. His eyes settled on two men across the store, a tall one with shaggy brown hair and legs that seemed incredibly clumsy trying to choose between two types of cold medicine and the other leafing through magazines. He turned towards the one with the shaggy hair, showing his face to Castiel and- _oh fuck_.

Dean.

Castiel instantly faced away and stared down at the aspirin in his hand. Why was Dean here? Of all places? On a day when Castiel was sure he looked like shit. He had been cleaning all morning.

Castiel felt frozen in place. He pretended to be reading the facts on the bottle, and he must have read them three or four times, just standing there, waiting for the inevitable. It was a tiny store.

Dean and the taller guy were now strolling through the toilet paper isle and bickering about something. Dean smiled when the taller man dropped his shoulders and then Dean reached up and ruffled his hair. Castiel’s stomach flipped when he saw Dean’s smile, the stretch of his lips, his wrinkles beside his eyes. Dean spotted him then, their eyes met, and Dean’s smile faded to a look Castiel’s couldn’t place.

Castiel quickly looked down and reading the bottle, acting like he didn’t see Dean.

“Cas?” Dean said. He had was standing in front of him now, holding a basket full of bottles of medicine, deodorant, paper towels and toilet paper. He wore a worn leather jacket that made him look unfairly attractive. The guy next to him was a half a head taller, with kind eyes and a plaid shirt.

“Dean,” Castiel said. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Sammy goes to school around here,” he gestured to the tall guy next to him. “Well, he usually does. But of course, the bookworm had a study group on a freaking weekend.” Sam glared at Dean. “This is my brother by the way. Sam, this is Cas.”

“The piano guy who plays really well?” Sam asked, his face elated.

“Yeah,” Dean said, then looked at Castiel. “Well, I mean I guess so. I didn’t tell him much about you.”

Castiel felt himself blush and he instantly wanted to run. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said, then shook Sam’s hand.

“Dean also told me about how you mysteriously dropped out of West Point?” Dean stomped on Sam’s foot and they both tried to mask it. Castiel’s eyebrows rose. Sam kept going. “For a little while I thought I wanted to go there, but now I’m trying for law school in the future. Did you know Edgar Allen Poe dropped out of West Point not even before the first semester was up? In fact, I think he was kicked out.”

“Jesus Christ you’re such a square,” Dean said. “Ignore my brother. He rambles when he’s socially awkward.”

“I didn’t know that Sam,” Castiel said. “I quite like his poems, actually.”

“You do? Me too. They’re so dark and creepy and-”

“Sam,” Dean interrupted. “Clearly Cas is busy.”

“I was just,” Castiel looked down at the pain killers in his hand. “Nothing. I’m not busy.”

“Well,” Dean said, a little tense, like he suddenly remembered their conversation last night. _We don’t have to be friends_. “We should get going then, right Sam?”

“It was really great meeting you, Cas. I’ll come around the bar sometime and see you play!”

“That would be nice,” Castiel said. “Glad to meet you.”

“Actually,” Dean said with a pout then put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Sam, go check out. I’ll be with you in a second.”

“Dean,” Sam hissed. “Come on. Can’t you just-”

“Nope!”

Sam groaned, took the basket from Dean’s hand and the wallet he held out for him, then trudged towards the front of the store.

Left alone with Dean, anxiety curled in Castiel’s stomach, but he swallowed it down. He huffed a laugh. “What was that about?”

Dean smiled. “Jessica is working the register today. Sam’s had a crush on her for years.”

Castiel’s smile reflected his. “I can’t tell if you’re a good brother or a bad one.”

“Little bit of both,” Dean winked.

There was an awkward pause. Dean shuffled his boots on the ground, giving Sam time.

“Hey, I’m sorry for blabbing to Sam about all your whole West Point thing. I shouldn’t of- and he, well, he shouldn’t have said-”

“It’s alright,” Castiel said, holding up a hand. “It was nice actually. Joking about it.”

“Right,” Dean said. “I…,” Castiel couldn’t tell if Dean had something to say or nothing at all. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“I believe so yes,” Castiel said.

With a polite nod of his head, Dean bid his farewell, turned, and headed towards the front of the store. Castiel could see Sam was fumbling with coins in his hands and Jessica was smiling. Castiel watched them leave the store, Dean’s shoulders moving smoothly under his jacket, his hair wild. He tightened his grip on the pill bottle, then, after a five-minute head start allotted for the Winchesters, he paid and left the store.

**I Walk the Line**

Castiel’s mother loved Johnny Cash. He put the record on in her room after he came in, and let the song play quietly in the backround as he walked further inside. Naomi tossed and turned in bed. “I’m back,” Castiel whispered. “Are you hungry now?”

His mother just hummed an indecisive response.

“I got aspirin,” Castiel said and placed the brown paper bag on the night table. “Mom,” he said. “Are you okay?”

“You know, I don’t think your father loves me,” she mumbled after what seemed like five or so minutes of waiting.

This was a frequent occurrence as well.

“Mom, you can’t think like that. You have to sit up okay. Have you had any water?”

“You’re the only one who cares,” Naomi said.

“That’s not true.”

“Bullshit,” she whispered.

“Mom,” he said, then shook her shoulder. His mother wouldn’t face him. Then, he bent down and placed his chin on her shoulder, held it there. “Mom, you know I’m not gonna leave you.” He never knew what to say. “You have to be my mom okay? Why don’t you make that pot roast you love?”

“I hate when you all say I have hobbies like you’re condemning me; you’re putting me down.”

“Mom.”

“No. I’m tired of it,” she said in a calm voice. “You men have all your little perplexities. Chuck writes his shitty books and Jimmy talks about that pastor he sees two or three times a week. Gabriel jokes around for a living. And you, you play piano all day like you’re six again. I can have things I like too and not sound crazy for it.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said.

“At least that’s helping me. You. Playing piano again. At least I know you’re still my little boy. But even then, I know it’s a goddamn lie.”

“Mom, nothing has changed.”

“Everything has,” she sighed, still not facing him. “I had no idea how much you wanted to leave West Point. I feel like I don’t know you at all. You’re- you’re slipping away from me.”

“I’m not, mom. I’m just…I’m trying to be happy. I…didn’t want to just follow orders.”

“Everyone is stuck in life, Castiel. No one finds happiness. You won’t find it here. You’re setting yourself up for failure,” she said.

“You don’t mean that,” Castiel said. He moved and rested his forehead against her arm, feeling his own emotions betraying him, wanting comfort but not from her. “You don’t mean that,” he repeated in a whisper.

Naomi stayed silent for a long while, and Castiel just listened to her uneven breaths. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I- sometimes I say things I just- I don’t-”

“It’s okay,” Castiel lied.

His mother didn’t say much after that, she just drifted back into a nap.

Castiel listened to the music. He thought about happiness. He thought loving someone. Loving someone for real, in a way he never has before.

**Frühlingslied**

Castiel new routine was Campbell’s in the morning, then Charlie’s in the evenings. He woke up early in the morning, made himself toast, and slipped out into the world before the house noticed him. Chuck hadn’t come home the night before, and his mother was still sleeping, and will probably sleep well into the late afternoon.

He got on the subway towards Greenwich village and by the time he got to Campbells, he was met with a line out the door.

“What’s going on?” Castiel asked someone at the end of the line, a young boy with blonde hair and a gap tooth who seemed rather nervous.

“I’m Alfie,” he said, dodging Castiel’s question as if he was rehearsing in his mind and Castiel caught him in the middle. Castiel rose his eyebrows. “Sorry, um, auditions today.”

“Oh,” Castiel said, surprised. “May I go by?”

Alfie let him, but as he walked up past the line many complained.

“I work here!” Castiel said, thinking it was partly true.

After a few grumbles, they let him pass and he slipped down the stairs and into the building.

Charlie and Dean were sitting at a table. Dean was smoking, Charlie was scribbling in a notebook, and they had a central view to the platform, where a young woman was blowing away on a flute and looked rather red faced. Castiel skirted up to the table and tapped Dean on the shoulder. Dean turned, a cloud of cigarette smoke in his wake, and a smile spread on his face. “Cas!” Then it dissipated. “Shit, sorry, I forget to tell you. Monday is audition day.”

“No problem,” Castiel said. He pulled a seat from the table next to him and set it to the table. Charlie waved at him, then went back to her dutiful notetaking.

“Maybe you can play in a little bit, once this damn line is up,” Dean said passively, as he looked back at the flute player and winced. She hit a breathy high note and at least three people in line held their ears.

“This is part of our job, Castiel,” Charlie sat back and looked at him from behind Dean’s back. Castiel leaned back to meet her gaze. “Weird right? But all the bars are having to do this now to keep the talent up.”

“This is the shittiest part of my job. We’re a bar not a god damn recital.”

“You know this helps sales, Dean. Jesus I’ve told you over and over,” Charlie mumbled. Then, “Next please!” she yelled with a bit of rudeness in her tone. Flute girl stepped down of the stage with her head down.

A man stepped up, “Hi my name is Andy and I’m the best stand-up comedian in the borough.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said, shaking his hand as a prompt for Andy to begin, his cigarette smoke twirling small circles in the air.

Andy began to tell a joke about a blonde and a lake.

Castiel realized just now how close he was sitting to Dean. Dean’s knee bounced up and down, a habit probably born of boredom, and it ever so often brushed up against Castiel’s knee. He looked over at his profile, his jaw sharp, eyelashes long with their tips blonde and feathery. If Castiel were a painter, he would have found his muse. As a pianist, he supposed he could use Dean as a muse as well. The curve of his brow, the eyelids, the boyish cheeks, the lips. They were all the rise and fall of melodies written on a page, high notes, low notes and in between.

Dean, without looking at Castiel, leaned over and whispered. “This is the third guy in a row that told that joke about the dumb blonde swimming halfway across a lake then wanting to swim back instead of keeping on swimming and, frankly, as a near-blonde myself, I find it fucking offensive.” He looked then, and in his eyes sparked a light of surprise when he realized Castiel had been looking at him the entire time.

Castiel looked away quickly, cleared his throat then, “Joking at the expense of others is never funny. I agree.”

Dean breathed a laugh at that, and Castiel could feel his eyes on him still. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean finally turn his head then yell, “Next!”

Dozens of auditions later, they had settled on a band called “Louden Swain.”

“That was shittier than usual,” Charlie said with a giggle and a sip of beer. It was well into the afternoon, and almost time for Charlie and Castiel to leave for work at her record store. But they all needed to wind down.

“That saxophone was shit out of tune,” Dean said.

“And that joke about Abraham Lincoln, Jesus Christ.”

“At least four guys said the same goddamn thing.”

“And don’t get me started about that red head bit, okay? Fuck that.”

“And that guy who said women shouldn’t swear.”

“Fuck. Shit. Asshole. Bitch. Fuck. Fuck. Motherfucking fuck.”

“Damn right.”

Castiel watched Charlie and Dean fondly as they bantered back and forth. He sat calmly in a chair; his chin rested on his arms crossed in front of him on the table. Every so often, he lifted his head to sip his beer then settled back down.

“Cas,” Dean said, finally taking notice in him. “Why don’t you play something.” Castiel opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Dean said, “Oh wait, you don’t take requests.” He gave Castiel a shit-eating grin.

Castiel smirked at him. Then, Charlie said, “Oh please, please. I haven’t heard you play yet and I’m dying to.”

Castiel looked between then both, then straightened up in his chair. “What would you like me to play?”

“Something…hmmm,” Dean put his finger on his chin and looked deep in thought. He chewed his lip. “Upbeat?”

“Crescendo!” Charlie said. “Staccato!”

“Those are piano terms, yes,” Castiel said, his tone amused.

“I don’t know, something light,” Charlie said. Dean hummed in agreement.

“Alright,” Castiel said and got out of his chair. With one more sip of beer, and a swipe of his tongue over his upper lip, he made his way to the piano. He thought of Mendelssohn and played one of the only things he knew by him.

Charlie instantly sighed and where she had been standing near a chair before she finally sunk down into it, her hair puffing around her like a cloud of flame. Dean turned his full body to Castiel and watched him pensively, sipping his beer and keeping his eyes on him.

He played the song twice. Once all the way through without variation, then once again with his own flare. He’d slow some parts down, speed up other parts, repeat notes or add some. Weirdly enough, he thought of his mother, and her up and down moods like a seesaw.

When he finished, he heard Charlie clap and he turned to see Dean was downing the rest of his beer. He then slammed it down on the table as if to say: Another! 

“Amazing,” Charlie said. “Truly.”

Castiel rubbed the back of his head. He didn’t like getting praise.

Dean cleared his throat and said to Charlie, “You better get going. It’s four.”

“Oh shit,” Charlie downed the rest of her beer then placed it on the table.

Castiel closed the lid of the piano. He caught Dean’s eye. He didn’t mean to.

“I’ll come too,” Dean said, eyes still on Castiel’s. “Monday nights are always slow. I can close up now.”

“Really?” Charlie said. “Sounds fun! Let’s move the party to my place!”

Dean laughed at that, then went to the counter to start settling the register. Charlie went to the back room to gather her things. Castiel put his hands behind his back and felt awkward. He pulled on the back of his shirt then thought better of it and tucked it back in your belt.

“That was new,” Dean said. “I liked it.”

“Mendelssohn,” Castiel said, trying not to let his heart flutter at Dean’s compliment. “Some of the first songs I learned to play.” Castiel walked over to the bar and placed his elbows on it.

“I wish I had some kind of talent. Something going for me,” Dean said, not meeting Castiel’s eye as he counted the money in the register.

“You’re smart, and kind and you run this whole bar by yourself,” the praise tumbled out of Castiel’s mouth before he could stop himself.

Dean smirked at that, his lips forming a half smile. He looked at Castiel then, his eyes bright. “You think I’m smart?” He laughed and shook his head. “Nah, I’m a dumbass.”

“Who told you that?” Castiel said.

“Lots of people,” Dean mumbled.

Castiel glared at him, like the clear answer would come out of him if he just looked long enough. Was it his brother? That girl Lisa? Maybe he had a mother like Castiel’s who switched on and off loving him fiercely or hating his guts. Or a father.

Before he could ask, Charlie came back out. “Let’s go bitches!”

Dean locked up the register and grabbed his keys from under the bar. Castiel frowned and finished his beer, then placed the glass in a tray that Garth will probably clear up tomorrow morning.

They walked out together, and Dean locked up. Charlie looped an arm around Castiel, then when Dean fell into step with her, she locked an arm with him too.

**Jailhouse Rock**

Elvis album. Bucket of candy Charlie keeps behind the register. Charlie’s “secret” selection of pin ups. A lack of customers due to the sudden rain. “A blissful day,” Charlie said as she bounced around to the music.

They all sat in the lounge area of her store, which was in the back but had a view of the front for any customers. Charlie had a red couch set up and a couple stools. Castiel sat on the couch and Dean sat on the floor, his back resting on the couch beside Castiel’s legs. He sifted through Charlie’s pictures, raising his eyebrows at the girls, and half smiling with a cigarette bobbing in his mouth. Castiel didn’t want to look at the pin ups because he didn’t want to pretend to like them. So, he tried to keep his nerves in check and sorted through Charlie’s comics.

“Did you grow up here?” Charlie collapsed down on the couch next to Castiel and would have scared him if her voice wasn’t so friendly. She folded her legs up underneath her and poked Dean in the head with her foot. He reached up and wacked her away and she smiled wider.

Castiel cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said. “I did. Well, in the upper east side.” The minute he said it, he wanted to take it back. He didn’t seem rich, judging by his rather untidy appearance he believed he so often had, and he didn’t want to seem stuck up,.

A quick tense silence settled between the three of them, then Charlie broke the ice. “I grew up in Brooklyn. I know the whole city like the back of my hand though.”

“So do I,” Castiel said, smiling softly at Charlie.

Dean put down his picture face down and turned his head towards Castiel but didn’t look at him. “Upper east side?”

“Dean,” Charlie said, a hint of a warning in her words.

“You’re rich?” Dean asked.

“Well, I-” Castiel began.

“Shit,” Dean said.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. I just- you…”

“What?”

“Did you get a fucking pony for Christmas? A 57’ Chevy maybe? I fucking want one of those and you probably don’t even appreciate it.”

“Dean, knock it off. We’re trying to have a nice afternoon. Eat some more candy,” Charlie said, running her hand through Dean’s hair to try and calm him down.

Dean stood up and went to go sit on a stool facing Castiel and Charlie. “Is your Dad a broker or something? Or is it old money?”

“Dean, shut the fuck up,” Charlie sat up straight on the couch.

Castiel sat up too, keeping a straight face. “It’s okay Charlie. Um, no, my dad is a writer but-”

Dean clicked his tongue and cut him off. “And your mom, she a housewife? She does nothing?”

“My mom lives comfortably, I suppose.”

“Right,” Dean said, fixing Castiel with a glare. “Well, good for you.”

“Excuse me,” Castiel said as politely as he could. “But what is your problem?”

“My problem?” Dean said and leaned back in his stool as is he was recoiling from a laugh. “Why are you playing piano for tips when your daddy gives you all the allowance money you need to run around the city and party and pay girls at strip joints and buy fancy clothes or whatever the fuck you rich kids do. Why do you act poor?”

“I don’t-”

“Do you know what poor is like?”

“Well I,” Castiel petered out. He didn’t know what to say. He’s seen poor, he’s known people with less money. He’s just never felt the struggle himself. He’s always been grateful for his father’s money although most of it did come from a long line of rich Novaks. He’s struggled in different ways. “I can empathize.”

Dean just glared at him. “Fuck this,” he said. “I’m going home. Charlie, I’ll see you tomorrow or whenever.”

“Dean don’t be such a fucking jackass,” Charlie said.

Castiel kept silent. Dean pushed the stool aside and stormed down the narrow store and then out the door. The bell above the door jingled violently on its ring.

After minutes of silence, with Castiel looking down at his hands, Charlie spoke up, “I’m sorry about him. He doesn’t mean it. It’s just. I think he struggled a lot.”

“I can assume that, yes,” Castiel said sadly. He felt it, a need to comfort Dean, a need to reach out to him and speak to him one on one and understand him. He knew so little but wanted to know everything, wanted to examine him, study him.

“I met him when he first moved to the city. He took one step in my store, got obsessed with it, and the rest is history. But he is kind of a closed book. I don’t know much about his life before him and his brother moved here, but it probably wasn’t pretty.”

“And that’s just it. I haven’t struggled.”

“Everyone struggles in different ways,” Charlie said. “It’s not a competition.”

Castiel looked at her.

“Both my parents died,” Charlie continued. “In a car accident when I was little. I bounced around on my own, had foster parents sometimes, mostly lived in group homes and homeless shelters. Then, I used all the money I got doing odd jobs, and well, my parent’s money, which was quite a bit, and I opened up this store when I was 18. It’s my pride and joy.” Castiel looked over at Charlie, who had settled back in comfortably to the couch. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” she said.

“Because everyone struggles in different ways,” he said, feeling far away.

Charlie smiled. “I think you should go after Dean.”

“What?” Castiel said.

“You should.”

“He said he was going home. I don’t know where he lives.”

“He lied. I know for a fact he’s back at his bar, smoking a cigarette. He loves that place. He goes there to think, to do everything.”

“He wouldn’t want me there,” Castiel said and shook his head.

“He wants to be your friend.”

“Why do you say that?” 

Charlie shrugged. “The way he looks at you.”

“He hates me,” Castiel said. “Or he’s starting to.”

“Go talk to him. Just trust me.”

Castiel groaned, but he got up out of his chair and Charlie hooted and clapped. “I’ll be here with my comics,” she said. “Don’t wait up.”

“This will be a disaster.”

“See you later, babe.”

**Liebesträume**

Castiel never had much of a voice. He was like a mouse living in a castle of kings back at home. Each sibling was given hearty portions of love and attention and money and Castiel was ignored. Even though he was the only one who looked after his mother, she only really saw him as a caretaker most of the time.

The loneliness was the worst of it. He had Jimmy, yes. But Jimmy had others. He had friends. He had Amelia. He loved Castiel and knew him better than anyone else in the world but even he spent little time with him.

Sometimes, Castiel felt like his twin’s protector. He was like his shadow that tried to push away all the bad in Jimmy’s life. Like when he broke his foot in grade school or fell on the ice and cracked his skull in central park or cried on his first day of school because Alastair Bennett stuffed him in a locker. Castiel was always there for him, and always picked him back up when he fell. But, over time, as him and Jimmy grew apart, Castiel felt like a shadow with no body. 

But he knew deep down, he had the courage to grow into who he was. To learn who he was. And where words had their faults, he could fill it with music.

He practically ran to Campbell’s. When he got there, he jumped down the stairs and rapped on the door with his fist. The closed sign rattling. He heard grunting from the inside, something like _alright alright jesus fuck_ , and then Dean opened the door. When they stood face to face, Dean just sighed. “Why?” he said and rolled his eyes.

“I would like to talk to you.”

“Why?”

“Let me in.”

Dean regarded him closely for a minute, looking him up and down. Then, he groaned, stepped back, and turned around. Castiel followed him inside and closed the door behind him. “So I guess Charlie told you I’d be here. What a traitor.”

“She meant well,” Castiel said. Dean walked all the way back behind the bar again, stood in the fashion he stood when Castiel first met him, and picked up a glass he must have been in the middle of cleaning before Castiel banged on the door.

“Look,” Dean said. “I’m gonna keep this short and simple. You can keep playing here if you want but I ain’t gonna be your friend-”

“I would like to be your friend,” Castiel said. He stood in front of the bar, his hands in fists beside him.

Dean snorted. “You certainly have perfected the art of mixed signals.”

“Me? I have?” Castiel said, feeling ridiculous, feeling as though Dean was a hypocrite, feeling desperate for some kind of apology for Dean’s outburst but not wanting to push.

Dean dropped his shoulders. “Okay, fuck- I overreacted. I’m sorry,” he said, lowering his head a bit to meet Castiel’s eyes. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

Castiel took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I believe so too, yes. Well, not at first but…I screwed it up, I’m sorry.”

“I’m bad at making friends too, okay? It may not seem that way, but…”

“I understand,” Castiel said. “Truce?”

Dean nodded. “On one condition.”

Castiel squinted at him and tilted his head.

“We talk,” Dean said.

“About?”

“Everything. Life. Friends. Family. Whatever.”

“You want to get to know me?” Castiel said..

Dean dropped his head. “Yes. Must it be so hard?”

“May I ask,” Castiel began, putting his hands on the bar and stepping closer. “Why you want to get to know me?”

Dean almost looked embarrassed, and if Castiel didn’t think he was hallucinating, he would say his cheeks were pink. He widened his eyes and had this funny smile on his face like he was trying not to make a fool of himself. “Cas. I- I think you’re cool, okay? And listen…I wouldn’t really just let anyone come and play that piano. It was Benny’s. He took good care of it and he trusted me with it. You saw the auditions this morning, Cas. I don’t just let anyone come in and perform here. I- I guess I- you’re cool.”

Castiel didn’t know at all what to make of that.

“And you are really talented. And you do help me sell more coffee.”

Castiel smiled. “Thank you.”

“Don’t get all mushy about it. Look, I’m sorry I was an ass to you before okay? I just get weird around rich people.” Dean mumbled.

Castiel sighed and sat down on the stool. He placed his elbows in the bar. “I’m not all that rich.”

Dean rose his eyebrows at him, his look incredulous. “Upper east side?”

Castiel smiled and held up his hands. “Okay, okay, yeah. I live on 5th ave. My parents do have a bit of money. I come from a long line of rich folks who pretty much struck gold in the 1800s by owning a publishing business and my dad is a writer. Have you heard of Carver Edlund?”

Dean’s mouth fell agape. “No fucking way.”

“Yup.”

“Fucking Christ. Your dad wrote those sci-fi books everyone’s obsessed with? Those books are ass,” Dean said, then he caught himself. “Fuck- no offense.”

“None taken. My dad is a piece of shit.”

Dean laughed then looked down at the counter, a dark expression clouding over his face. He tapped his fingers then breathed in sharply. “Hey, well, I know a thing or two about dead-beat dads. So I, uh, I know how you feel.”

Castiel looked up at him, waiting for him to say anything else. He wished desperately for Dean to come out from behind the bar and come sit with him on a table. Castiel figured he’d aid the conversation. “My dad… Chuck. That’s his real name. He thinks I never should have been born. He likes my twin brother and that’s all he bargained for.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean said. “My dad…Fuck, where do I start. World War Two vet, lost his goddamn mind, drinks all day, pukes all night.”

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Castiel said softly.

“I got really used to it.”

They remained silent for a little while, listening to the muffled sounds of the city. Dean seemed to be bracing himself on the bar, his hands secure on the table and his arms straight out. He held his head down. Castiel gazed around the bar, his eyes settling on the light shining through in yellow ribbons on the hard wood floor. He could see the scuffs on the floor from where the chairs had been moved many times. He looked at the piano.

“Is this how it’s done?” Castiel asked. “Making friends?”

Dean laughed softly at that. “You don’t have much experience, do you?”

Castiel felt a pang to his heart. “Not really no,” Castiel said. Then, “I was…shy. I guess. Lived in my brother’s shadow.”

“I get that,” Dean said. Then, he pouted. “Want a drink?”

“More drinks?” Castiel said incredulously.

Dean shrugged. “Why not? Friends drink together.” Dean bent down and produced a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from underneath the counter. “Do you want to play something? Sorry I keep asking you.”

“I don’t mind,” Castiel said, feeling himself smile. He looked fondly at Dean, who gently poured one finger of whiskey into each glass. “You like when I play?”

Dean shrugged, like any emotion could simply be portrayed by a mere move of the shoulders. “Don’t get too cocky about it.”

Castiel stood, and came to attention like a soldier, making Dean raise his eyebrows at him. He placed one arm on his stomach, and the other on his back and bowed. “Well then I am honored to play for you.”

“Yeah yeah, Mozart,” Dean grumbled, and took a small swig of whiskey, hiding a smile.

Castiel plucked up his glass of whiskey and brought it over to the piano. As he sat down on the bench, he made a note to add extra flair like he was at a recital, which made Dean smile and shake his head. He began to play something he’d never really been able to play through fully before. It was a complicated song that he learned in his late teens. The song began with quick notes, and it was almost too fast for his fingers. He could play Rondo Alla Turca because that can be played hard and fast and without little feeling. This was different. He had to slow down, hit the notes gently, focus. He thought about how, during the fall, central park was bathed in orange and when a particularly strong wind came casting through, the leaves took off like airplanes and spin in tunnels of air. He closed his eyes. Then, he missed a note. “Shit,” he hissed, his eyes shoot open. His fingers started shaking a bit, and he didn’t know where he left off.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked. He was cleaning one of the circular tables in the middle of the bar, his glass of whiskey in one hand and a towel in the other.

“You didn’t catch that?”

Dean came up on the platform and leaned against the piano. “Did you mess up?”

Castiel nodded and returned his eyes to the keyboard. “I can never play this one.”

“I thought it sounded great,” Dean said into his whiskey, nonchalant. “You should play that when there’s customers around. Make me a good dollar.”

Castiel tried to play again, but he felt the moment pass.

“What’s that one called anyway?” Dean asked.

Castiel looked at him. “Liebesträume.”

“Gesundheit?” Dean said, his face scrunching up in confusion.

Castiel shook his head, feeling a small smile form on his face. “No, it’s um, German. Means “love dream” or “I dream of love.” Something like that.”

“Aw,” Dean said, and batted his eyelashes dramatically. “You’re breaking my heart. That’s gorgeous, Cas.”

Castiel reached out and tried to shush him away, Dean skirted away from his hand with a wide smile on his face, then he gritted his teeth when he realized he almost spilled his whiskey. “Asshole,” Castiel said.

“Such a flirt, you are,” Dean said, his whole body laughing.

Castiel rolled his eyes and then dropped them back down the keys. He sighed and closed the lid to the piano. “I should go back to Charlie’s,” he said. “My shift isn’t over.”

Dean nodded and pushed out his lower lip. “Can I drink the rest of your whiskey?”

Castiel huffed at him. “Sure, whatever.”

A silence settled between them as Castiel got up off the piano bench. He tried and failed to smooth out the wrinkles in his dress shirt. The stubborn ones at the elbows.

“Hey,” Dean said. “Um, Sam’s birthday is on Friday and we usually have a little party at our apartment. Nothing big. He’s turning eighteen though, so he wants a few more people than usual. You can come if you want. Charlie will be there.”

Castiel stared at him for a moment, taking him all in: the relaxed way he stood, the bulk of his shoulders, the way his white V-neck stretched across his chest. A necklace he hadn’t noticed before, for it had always been under his shirt, was now visible on his chest. Its pendant was a bronze casting of a head with horns. Castiel looked up at his face finally, at his pleading, open expression. “That sounds very nice. I’d like to come.”

A smile spread on Dean’s face. “It’s a date then,” he said, and took a last sip of whiskey. He hopped down off the platform and walked back to the bar, his shoulders rolling. Castiel felt his heart quicken, then release.

He left before he could do anything stupid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come be nice to me (please) on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/green-eyes-and-classic-rock)


	4. Forte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> notes that are to be played loudly, and with force

“All I kept thinking about, over and over, was 'You can't live forever; you can't live forever.”

-F. Scott Fitzgerald

**6 Moments musicaux**

The week went by slow as ever. Castiel spent the time working in Charlie’s store, playing for about an three a day at Campbell’s, getting tips. His mother spent the week in bed, and Castiel felt bad leaving her on her own.

Dean seemed to be in a storm that week. He barely worked the bar, leaving Garth to take over while Castiel was there, and the two never really crossed paths. One night, he was walking to the subway from Charlie’s store and could have sworn he saw Dean standing outside Swayze’s, pressing a brown-haired woman against the wall, and kissing her. Castiel recognized his shoulder’s, his arms, his hands on her waist, his ruffled-up hair. A strange feeling trickled through him and when he got home, he just sat down on the floor next to his mother’s bed, listening to her breathing slowly.

Chuck had been gone all week without a trace. Every morning, however, he’d call and Castiel would pick up to him asking if Naomi was out of bed yet. When Castiel could say no, the line would go dead. Castiel would stare at the phone for a minute, feeling anger rise in him, then it would dissipate, and he’d go back to preparing food.

Castiel was a shit cook, and all he could really make from was pasta with tomato sauce.

On Friday morning, Castiel awoke to the house smelling of bacon. He stepped in the kitchen to see his mother fully dressed in a light blue gown with buttons, her hair curled, an apron tied tightly around her waist and a pan in her hand. “Castiel,” she said when he came in. “Oh darling, good morning. Breakfast?”

“Mom?” he questioned. He rubbed his eyes then looked around the kitchen. There were pots and pans and dishes of countless things. Fried eggs were on a platter on the table, eggs benedict beside them, a whole loaf of bread slices seemed to be toasted, with jam spread on every single one. Although it was around eight in the morning, his mother seemed to have been working on lunch as well. A half-assembled lasagna was in the making on the side counter, and vegetables were laid out ready for a salad.

“Are we…expecting a breakfast party?” Castiel asked.

Naomi looked at him with wide eyes, “No silly, it’s for you!”

Bacon sizzled loudly on the stove. Castiel bounded over and then cursed when he saw, not one, but three pans on the stove, each with five or six strips of bacon on them. Some were turning black and would catch fire soon. “Shit, mom, be careful.” Castiel turned off the burners and dumped the burnt bacon in the trash.

“Do you want pancakes? Or waffles maybe? I think I have the mix for them. Or I could run down to the store really quick-”

“No thank you, Mom. I’m okay,” Castiel said. “Maybe you should sit down, and I’ll finish this okay?”

“Your father called,” Naomi said as she leaped to the table then sunk down in a chair. “He’s coming home for dinner tonight. And, I think, we should have Daphne over tomorrow night. Maybe I should also call all your brothers. Wouldn’t that be nice? We could have a big reunion.”

Half listening, Castiel replied. “That sounds great mom,” then he realized and turned to look at her. “Actually, um, I can’t. I’m gonna be out tonight.”

Naomi’s sunny face turned sour. “Oh,” she said, and looked down at the eggs on the table. “Alright.”

Castiel’s chest hurt to look at her, then he gestured to the breakfast spread. “This looks great mom, really. Thank you. Are you feeling better?”

“What?” She said. “I feel great. I’ve been great.”

“That’s good, Mom. That’s good,” Castiel said softly.

After eating a little bit and trying to wrap up and store all the excess food that his mother made, he retired to his room.

He’s been packing his things for a while now, leaving Jimmy’s things in a neat pile in the corner and slowly packing a suitcase. He packed in small increments every day in order to not scare his mother and make her realize he intended to move out soon.

His mother persuaded him to go to The MET with her, and they explored the Grecian statues and the oriental armor. He used to go almost every week when he was a kid, as Naomi loved art, and it seemed to amuse him and Jimmy while Gabriel, Luke and Michael were at school.

“You want me to be a kid again,” he told his mother plainly, as they walked along a path in central park after leaving the museum.

“I just want to feel like a mother again,” Naomi said.

Castiel wanted to say that she never really was one, and that that was okay. He loved her regardless, even if it was hard. He stayed silent.

**Hound Dog**

Charlie had given Castiel Dean’s address the day before, and at around five, Castiel boarded a subway car heading downtown. Dean lived in a small apartment in the East Village. “Look for a rust colored building, and a window on the fourth floor with a tarp on it,” she had said. “Sam accidentally smashed a stapler through the window last month.”

Castiel wasn’t sure how someone could “accidentally” throw a stapler through a window.

He walked down a busy street full of people bustling about, wearing turtlenecks and dark slender glasses and whatever the hell else young people wore these days. Castiel didn’t take Dean to be one of the artsy people he saw in New York prancing around. He was too rugged and Castiel thought of his soft leather jacket.

When he reached the street Charlie told him of, he slowed down his gate, then looked for apartment building 325. There, a couple buildings down from the corner, was the rust colored building, complete with tarp on a fourth story window, flapping in the breeze.

He got buzzed in and he walked up the stairs tentatively. There was no elevator, and the walls were so thin he could hear babies crying and couples arguing. He followed the sound of loud music and found Dean’s apartment number, 11. He hesitated before knocking, and started to reconsider coming here in the first place. Socializing wasn’t exactly his strong point.

Before he could even think of abandoning ship, the door flung open. “I knew it!” cried Sam, who was standing in the doorway, a light expression on his face. “I thought I sensed someone at the door.”

“Hi Sam,” Castiel said, but he couldn’t seem to get his feet to move.

From somewhere inside the apartment, Dean’s voice called out, “Yes, of course, my brother, the goddamn psychic, can _feel_ when someone is at the door.” There was a small parade of laughs.

Sam rolled his eyes but otherwise ignored his brother’s comment, “Come in,” he told Castiel. 

Castiel finally willed himself to move and he slipped inside the doorway. Sam quickly went behind him and shut the door.

The Winchester household was a rather small one. An Elvis song was bumping loudly through the air and it was certainly bothering all the inhabitants of the entire building. Scuffed up wood floor, wallpaper peeling, water spots on the ceiling, old furniture. The house looked lived in and loved, just like all of Dean’s possessions seemed to be.

A small group of people came piling around the corner from where Castiel assumed was the kitchen. Charlie was there, her hair tied up in a messy bun of curls. There were a few people Sam’s age that Castiel didn’t recognize, and that blonde girl from the pharmacy who Sam blushed around. Castiel was surprised to see Jo, and when she saw him, she smiled widely and jumped up and down. There was no Lisa in sight, and then there was Dean with the biggest smile of all of them.

“Castiel!” Jo said and bounded over. She pulled Castiel in a hug and ruffled his hair. “Does this mean we’re gonna have a night where we hang out like old times? I love this!”

“Old times?” Dean said, coming up next to Jo with warmth still in his face. Castiel swallowed and looked at him. They caught eyes and Castiel’s heart hammered.

“Castiel and I go way back,” Jo said. “We met when we were, what, six?”

“I believe so yes,” Castiel nodded.

“He used to come to my mom’s cafe all the time with his brothers. I’ve missed that a lot,” Jo said to him and Castiel smiled warmly at her.

Dean pursed his lips and nodded to that, and Jo nudged him with his elbow. The rest of the group was circling back around to the kitchen after the greeting. Sam called out, “There’s pizza for everyone!”

Dean kept shifting his eyes between him and Jo, and Castiel squinted at him. Dean shook his head, turned, and on his way to the kitchen said, “Why don’t you come get some food, Cas, the pizza is fucking great.”

Castiel nodded with a small smile and followed Jo. The party was all gathered around a flimsy wooden table in the center of the kitchen dotted with several pizza boxes. Sam’s face was like a tomato as the blonde girl, Jessica, Castiel remembered, was standing close to him and giggling.

“Want a drink?” Castiel turned to see Dean standing closely behind him, a kind expression on his face, and bright eyes.

“Yes,” Castiel said and nodded ridiculously.

Dean smiled and went to the fridge where he pulled out two beers and cracked open each of them with a metal ring on his finger. He handed one to Castiel, and he took it gratefully.

“How’s my favorite employee,” Charlie said, coming up next to Castiel and swinging an arm around his shoulders.

Castiel took a sip of his beer, “Better now.” He said and laughed.

“Do you go to parties much?” Charlie asked.

Dean beat him to it, “He definitely does not. He told me.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Dean, playfully of course. “I suppose he’s right but that does make me sound like a loser.”

“Who cares, Dean,” Charlie said, glowering at Dean while she said his name. “Not everyone parties and chases women like you do.”

Castiel felt something in his chest twist.

“It’s my only joy in life and you know it, Red,” Dean said dramatically, then gave Castiel a small, shy look that morphed back into confidence before Castiel could process it.

Charlie rolled her eyes, but she still had a smile on her face. “Get me a beer, dickhead.”

Dean laughed and went to go root into the fridge again. He resurfaced with a beer, dripping in condensation.

“To Sam! Happy Birthday!” Charlie cheered, then cracked open her can. Everyone cheered and took drinks of their own or bites of pizza.

During the rest of the night, as the group got drunker and drunker, a stack of Elvis records had been played through and now the first one was playing again. Sam and his friends were playing charades and Dean, Castiel, Jo and Charlie were sprawled out on the old red couch in the living room, watching them play and laughing their asses off. Jo had her head on Dean’s shoulder and maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the truth of how Castiel felt, but dammit, he was jealous. Charlie had her legs swung over the three of them and was twirling a wine glass in her hand like she was royalty.

After trying to act out a scene from The Ten Commandments, Jessica tripped over her own feet and in a fit of giggles fell into Sam’s arms. It was the cutest thing Castiel has ever seen and he felt nervous and lightheaded and like he had too much to drink and he had to go get a breath of fresh air because the apartment was shrinking- it was for sure shrinking- and he could feel his chest close up and there was something spilling onto his chest and-

"Shit,” Charlie hissed and straightened up her wine glass before more wine could seep into Castiel’s white dress shirt. She swung her legs up off of him and Castiel cursed and stood up. The whole party went into a hush of held back giggles. “I’m so so so sorry,” Charlie rattled off.

Castiel calmly held up a hand to silence her. “It’s okay. It was an accident,” he said then turned to Dean. “Where’s your bathroom?”

“’Round the hall to the right,” Dean said. Wine was dripping down Castiel’s shirt, making a huge stain of red. He excused himself and the party seemed to resume behind him.

The bathroom was surprisingly spacious. The appliances were a light green and the mirror had smudges and scratches around the corners. Castiel balled up a wad of toilet paper and wetted it, then he sat on the edge of the bathtub and started to dab away the wine. The toilet paper came back a dull pink.

There was a knock on the door, then after a second the knob turned, and Dean stepped in.

“Dean,” Castiel said quickly. “I’m fine you don’t have to interrupt the party.”

Dean closed the door behind him and then leaned against it, his arms crossed. “Oh, they’re all fine. I’m just checking on you.”

Castiel grunted and looked back down at his shirt.

“That looks fucking awful,” Dean said with a laugh.

“Thank you,” Castiel said, and rolled his eyes at him.

Dean bent down and opened up a cupboard under the sink. He brought out a towel and wetted it, then handed it to Castiel. “Here,” he said. “That might work better.”

“I don’t think anything will really work. I’ll just have to go all the way home looking like a dumbass,” Castiel laughed at himself.

“You can borrow one of my shirts if you want. I’m sure we’re the same size,” Dean said, nonchalant.

For some reason, that made Castiel stomach fluttered. “No,” he said, his voice strained. He cleared his throat. “That’s quite alright, thank you though.”

“It’s really no big deal you can just return it at the bar-”

“No really it’s okay,” Castiel said.

Dean held up his hands in defeat, then leaned up against the sink and folded his arms to his chest again. He propped his hip against the cupboard, just like he does on the piano in the bar. Castiel watched him carefully. “What?” Dean asked.

“What?” Castiel said, feeling as though he was breaking out of a trance.

“You’re looking at me,” Dean said.

“No, I’m not.”

Dean hummed in response.

“You don’t need to be here,” Castiel said.

“Don’t be mean now,” Dean said with a surprised smile. “Also, this is my apartment.”

“I’m not trying to be- I’m-” Castiel caught himself. “Sorry.”

Dean shook his head and shifted himself, so he wasn’t facing Castiel anymore. Castiel dabbed his shirt again, feeling like an idiot.

“Are you having a good time?” Dean asked.

Castiel thought for a moment, then felt himself smile just a bit. “Yes. I am. Thank you for inviting me,” he said softly.

“Jo seems to like you,” Dean said. “You two being childhood friends and all. Small world, huh?”

It was Dean making casual conversation, and Castiel knew that’s what he thought it was. But Dean consistently had a way of slipping in inquiries that are past a personable level, and more so intimate interest. It fascinated Castiel, the way he crafted conversation, as if nothing was off limits but at the same time everything was. “I care about her a great deal,” Castiel said carefully. “How did you two meet?”

Dean tucked his chin into his chest. “She came around the bar a lot, how else? That’s how I’ve met all my friends.”

“She seems to like you too,” Castiel implored.

“I think she does,” Dean muttered. “But, I’m not sure if I feel the same way.” He then looked at Castiel and laughed quietly. “I thought she was coming on to you all night.”

“I thought she was coming on to _you_ all night,” Castiel repeated.

“Well now that’s settled then,” Dean said, his voice petering off.

Then, he looked over at Castiel. Castiel instantly felt naked, like Dean was looking past any walls he held up, and nerves he had. Dean had a way of looking at people like that. He saw them, really saw them. Castiel swallowed.

Dean looked down at his shirt.

“What’s with all the fancy shirts you wear anyway?” Dean asked.

“Fancy?”

Dean nodded. “Well, I mean. Come on. It makes sense you wear this stuff in public but to a kid’s 18th birthday party.”

“This is kind of all I have,” Castiel said, although he didn’t want to admit it. He bought a bunch of the same shirt for West Point and hasn’t bothered to change up his wardrobe since he dropped out.

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Left over from West Point?” Dean said as if he read his mind.

Castiel’s gaze snapped up at him. He nodded.

“So do you still wear that fancy stuff because you regret dropping out?” Dean said.

Castiel didn’t know if it was intentional, but what Dean said stung him. Truth is, he didn’t have a solid reason why he dropped out. He was there, he didn’t like it, he didn’t know why, so he left. Dean made it seem like he had put so much thought into it in that past that now he was disappointed with where his life in the present.

When Castiel didn’t answer, Dean continued. “Why did you drop out of West Point? Like for real. Cause it can’t just be to play piano.”

“Couldn’t it?” Castiel said as a knee jerk react.

He watched as Dean smiled slyly, then shrugged. He wasn’t giving up.

Castiel sighed and looked down at his hands. “I guess I just…wanted to do something selfish for the first time in my life.”

The truth of it stung out of him like someone had ripped out a splinter. There was relief there too, under the shame.

Dean pouted and nodded his head. Satisfied. “Alright then. I respect it,” he said. “I still think you should borrow my shirt even though you’re all up in arms about it. What? I’m not asking you to prom,” Dean finally said, a playful smile on his lips.

In a moment of confidence, Castiel kicked Dean in the foot. Dean laughed. “Fine,” he conceded. “As long as no one makes fun of me for it.”

“Oh they certainly will,” Dean said. “They’re all drunk, though, you know,” he laughed and ran a hand through his hair. “Especially Charlie. One beer and she’s hilarious. Though, she insists she’s not a lightweight.”

Castiel glanced down at his shirt, then huffed in agreement. “White wine for her next time.”

Dean laughed, held his stomach, then kept laughing. It wasn’t funny at all, Castiel thought. Dean’s whole face opened up, his eyes closed, wrinkles next to them, his cheeks plump. Castiel couldn’t help but smile. Dean’s laughter was contagious.

“Come on,” Dean said. He grabbed Castiel on the shoulder and lead him to his bedroom. Castiel stumbled along.

Dean’s room was small, and his bed took up most of the room. Castiel stopped in the doorway was Dean skirt around to a dresser near the back of the room.

To Castiel’s surprise, Dean’s room was expressionless. It lacked personal mementos, pictures, really anything that would indicate that Dean lived here. It was strange, judging by the fact that the rest of the apartment seemed lived in a loved. Campbell’s as well was living and breathing humanity. But this room was almost sterile. Dean kept his room orderly, no nonsense.

Dean came back around and handed Castiel a grey Henley shirt that looked incredibly soft and worn in over the years. “Thank you,” Castiel said. “I…um. I’ll return this later.”

Dean waved it off. “Whatever,” he said. “I have a ton of those.” Dean patted him on the shoulder and pushed past him. On his way out, Dean pushed the door and left it ajar, then went down the hall back to the party.

Castiel stood alone in Dean’s bedroom. He felt like he was intruding on Dean’s life. He couldn’t help it. He stepped into the room further, went around to the other side of Dean’s bed to the window and looked through the blinds. The view outside was calm and free of people. It looked over an intersection and a cafe on the corner, closed for the night.

Castiel turned around and took in the room once more. It was illuminated by green light, then amber, then red, depending on the stoplight outside. Next to Dean’s bed were a few empty bottles of beer, and a glass for whiskey. Castiel glanced at the bed. Although it was made, the sheets were rumpled. It felt strange and intimate being invited into Dean’s room, albeit alone. Castiel pushed any unwanted thoughts out of his mind. Now was not the time to get hot and bothered.

Walking back over to the door, Castiel unbuttoned his dress shirt and stripped it off. He stared at the back of the door, refusing to even look at Dean’s bed. When he was shirtless, he felt cold and exposed. He looked down at the folded shirt in his grip. Without thinking, he lifted it to his face and smelled the soft fabric. It smelled like faint cologne, a bit of cigarette smoke, and whiskey. It smelled like Dean.

Castiel unfolded Dean’s shirt and tugged it over his head. It settled on him like a warm blanket. It fit him well, albeit a bit loose in the chest and shoulders. Castiel tried to expel the thought of how comfortable he was, how well he finds he fits in Dean’s world. 

He let a few more seconds pass before he migrated back to the living room. When he appeared, he saw Charlie sprawled out on the couch. Her head had migrated to Jo’s lap and Jo looked like she was in a trance-like state, running her hands through Charlie’s hair and laughing at whatever Sam and his friends were doing. Dean was standing by the couch with a new beer in hand.

When Charlie spotted Castiel walking back into the room, she sprung up and ran to him. “I am so sorry! Is the shirt completely ruined?”

“I didn’t like it anyway,” Castiel said, knowing he wasn’t lying.

Dean appeared beside Castiel and put an arm around his shoulders. “He was being such a sissy about borrowing a shirt of mine. But look at him,” Dean said. His gaze shifted to Castiel, and his face was so close that Castiel didn’t dare look over at him. “All calm and relaxed. Finally. At ease, sir.” Dean gave him a lackluster salute, which elicited a laugh from Charlie.

Castiel shrugged off Dean’s arm but couldn’t help be smile. He tried to hide it.

A lot of Sam’s guests were turning in for the night and promising to call when they got home. Castiel saw Sam at the door with Jessica, and she kissed his cheek.

“I’m staying over,” Charlie said. She nodded to Jo, “She is too. We are way too drunk to get back to our places.”

“Oh,” Castiel said, awkward standing by the couch. “Cool.”

“You should stay too!” Charlie said. “I’d be like a slumber party!”

“I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Impose on what?” Dean said beside him. He took another swig of beer. 

“I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome,” Castiel said. “Although it is very kind that the girls want me to stay.”

“I assumed you were staying,” Dean said. “You’re not?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Stay,” Dean said. “You’re drunk.”

Castiel wasn’t. He had only had a beer or two, and Dean knew this. Dean, though, winked at him, and Castiel’s stomach flipped.

“Yay!” Charlie cheered. Castiel didn’t realize he had nodded an agreement. “It’s a party then! Well, round two.”

They spent the next couple hours playing cards and telling jokes. Sam turned in around two and Dean promised, with a shit eating grin, that they would be quiet. Only to yell out another joke after Sam’s door closed.

Castiel felt like he was in a dream. Dean sat next to him and their arms occasionally brushed as they reached for cards and it took everything in him not to just melt into him. Dean was warm and his hair looked so soft and his smile was goofy from the alcohol and the good company. Not to mention, wearing Dean’s shirt made him feel like he belonged. 

Above everything else, it was nice to have friends. It was nice to talk. It was nice to laugh. He missed Jo, and she reminded him of his childhood. They instantly fell back into their roles and occasionally threw out inside jokes which made them laugh till their stomachs hurts and made Charlie and Dean laugh in confusion.

Charlie started to get sleepy around five and her and Jo pulled out the couch-bed and practically passed out half on top of each other.

“I think I am going to go, actually,” Castiel said, feeling anxiety bubble in him as he realized that him and Dean were the only ones awake in the house. They stood awkwardly in the kitchen as Dean collected beer bottles and Castiel helped to throw away trash.

"Oh,” Dean said. “Are you sure? You can take my bed, really, I can sleep on the floor. I’ve done it loads of times.”

“That’s very kind of you, but I wouldn’t want to be a bother,” Castiel said, his heart pounding. “Besides, I should get back. My parents will be confused where I am come morning.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at him, then shrugged. “Okay whatever,” he said. “The streets get pretty fucking dangerous around this time though.”

“I’ll be okay,” Castiel said, looking down at his hands. He grabbed at the sleeves of Dean’s shirt. “Oh,” he said and pointed at his chest. “You’ll want this back.”

Dean shook his head and smiled. “Just keep it, Cas. It suits you.”

Castiel dropped his hands to his sides awkwardly. “Okay. Then I’ll see you at Campbell’s tomorrow…or later today I guess.” He felt like there was so much he wanted to say to Dean, although he had no idea what it all was. Maybe it was just a feeling. He wanted to convey a feeling. Safety. Calm. Longing.

“Be safe, okay,” Dean said and looked at him. Then he smiled a full toothy smile. “And I’m gonna close the bar during the day, tomorrow.”

Castiel tilted his head. “Why?”

“Cause tomorrow night we’re having a huge event. Can you come? You don’t even need to help out. I’ll think you’ll just have a lot fun,” Dean said. He almost looked bashful, and although he looked light and happy, he wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Castiel smiled and nodded. “Of course, I’ll come.”

Dean looked up at him and smiled.

Dean then finally let him go, after making sure the street below was clear and quiet, and asking Castiel if he had his: wallet, keys, money, hat, etc. Check. Check. Check. I don’t wear a hat.

Castiel walked to the subway, somewhat regretting his decision. He could have slept in Dean’s bed. Dean’s bed, in Dean’s room, in Dean’s apartment, while Dean was sleeping beside him on the floor. What if Dean got cold or uncomfortable and decided to come up and join him? What if he just missed the opportunity of a goddamn lifetime?

He got on the subway and sat on the cold seat. No one was in the car except for a man asleep sprawled over several seats.

He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it up.

**Elvira Madigan**

Castiel was as quiet as he could possibly be as he snuck into a silent house. He went to his room and slept fitfully for only a couple of hours, then woke up around 8 to an unexpected female voice outside in the living room. He quickly dressed, tried to smooth his wild hair down, and brushed his teeth.

Aunt Amara was sitting in the living room, holding a cup of tea, and she was chatting with Castiel’s mother. She wore a yellow suit, a floral blouse underneath, pearls, an excessive number of chunky rings on her fingers, and red sunglasses pushed back into her hair. Chuck was pacing back and forth, as it seemed they were disagreeing about something. Castiel stayed just out of sight and overheard the conversation.

“I won’t help you with your book, Charles,” Amara said. “That’s what paid editors are for.”

“But, that costs money,” Chuck said.

“You have money!”

Castiel inched into the room and a floorboard creaked below him.

“Castiel!” Amara said. She rose to her feet and straightened her suit jacket.

“We were having a private conversation, please don’t butt in,” Chuck grumbled and ran a hand down his face.

“You’re being pretty loud for a private conversation,” Castiel said, knowing full well he was talking back to his father but not regretting it like he usually would. Chuck rolled his eyes and glared at him.

“Oh, come on, let me at least say hello to my favorite nephew,” Amara said as she came over and grabbed Castiel’s face, then kissed him on the cheek, no doubt leaving lipstick in her wake.

“Favorite?” Castiel mumbled. He was not her favorite. Not by far. She never really spoke to him when he was growing up. In fact, Castiel wasn’t sure if she even remotely liked any of her nephews at all. “Why are you here?” he asked.

“Can’t your wonderful, glorious aunt come to visit every so often?”

“Considering you were in Paris, I didn’t think you’d choose us over that,” Castiel said as fast as he could before he could be scolded.

Amara groaned and dropped the act. “Your father is having money issues.”

“What?”

“Jesus Christ,” Chuck said, holding the bridge of his nose. “Don’t just tell the boy flat out.”

Naomi stood and walked over to her husband. She placed her hands on his shoulder. “Dear, don’t stress,” she said.

He stepped away from her and Naomi dropped her hands slowly, hurt.

“No need to keep secrets from me,” Castiel said, sarcastically. “You’ve clearly always been the most transparent father to me ever since I was born.”

“You woke up with a damn attitude, didn’t you?” Chuck spat out and pointed an accusatory finger at his son.

“Guilty,” Castiel said, holding up his hands.

Chuck was turning red, but Amara tried to diffuse the tension. “Castiel, could you please go out somewhere? We have some very serious business to attend to.”

Castiel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He lived here, for Christ’s sake. Not by his own will, mind you, but he did deserve a bit of cordial respect one would get from housemates.

But, he succeeded, grabbed his things, and went out the door.

**Warm**

Castiel wasn’t sure where to go. He walked down the street and, in a haze, went to Greenwich. Once he surfaced from the subway, he smelled warm pretzels and spotted them across the street, golden and spinning in a case near a food cart. He crossed the street, disobeying the crosswalk but avoiding cars, and bought one.

He remembered days like these. When he was in high school and his whole household was fighting, he would slip away and go somewhere, anywhere the subway would take him. A part of Castiel loved to observe humanity: the people walking, sitting in the grass, playing guitar or playing chess. He walked through Washington Square park and saw how much people were enjoying the sunny day. Tentatively, he lied down on the grass and looked at the clouds.

He thought about Dean.

He thought about what it would be like if Dean was lying down next to him. What would happen if he rolled onto his side, pressed himself up close to Dean then kissed him? Soft and slow.

If he’s broken for thinking things that felt so calming to him, then maybe it’s the world outside of him that is broken.

He felt himself sinking into a nap lulled by the sun and thoughts of Dean. It should be more painful, he realized, to think of Dean this way, knowing he couldn’t feel the same. Judging on how many women he goes around with; Dean wasn’t like him. But the daydream was too peaceful. In the times in his life when he’s felt a certain way about another man, his thoughts were always cloaked in shame. But with Dean, it was too beautiful to hate.

Castiel forced himself to sit up. He couldn’t nap here; he’d have his wallet stolen before he could even start snoring. He stood up then stepped off the grass and started to walk down the sidewalk. He was wobbly from exhaustion, and almost stumbled into a woman holding the hands of two young boys.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” He said and caught himself before he knocked the poor woman over, and her boys with her. She and her kids sprung back. She was young, with shiny brown curls and winged black eyeliner.

Her eyes were wide in panic as she looked up at Castiel, “Are you alright?”

Castiel grimaced, thinking that this woman probably thought he was drunk during the daytime. “I’m okay. I apologize.” Castiel looked down at the boys who held her hands. They must have been only about six or seven, standing at about three feet tall. They were identical, _Jesus_ , and it hit Castiel like a train. When they were little, he used to wear the same clothes as his brother too, and they used to mirror each other perfectly before their paths diverged. The two boys wore overalls with long sleeve shirts and white sneakers. They each had wispy blonde hair that curled ridiculously on their foreheads. Castiel did not know, at all, how to interact with kids. He held up his hand awkwardly and repeated, “Sorry” to them.

“Do you have somewhere to go?” The woman seemed to say in a simple way, like she was trying to get Castiel to hear her.

It clicked in him. “Oh, um, I’m not homeless, I’m just. I’m not having the best day.”

The woman seemed to turn sympathetic. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” she then smiled and held out her hand, letting go of one of her boys. “I’m Kelly Kline.”

Castiel was blown away by her uncommon kindness and wondered if everyone in this part of the city was so kind to strangers. Typically, he learned by his mother, that if some weird man in the park almost knocked you on your butt, you should run as fast as you can. Castiel shyly smiled and reached up to shake her hand. “Castiel Novak.”

If he wasn’t paying attention, he wouldn’t have noticed the grim expression that formed on her face for a brief millisecond. Castiel thought he was probably seeing things. Instantly, Kelly schooled herself and smiled back widely. She then bent down, with her hands on her knees and looked at her sons. “Jack, Bel,” she said both of their names with so much love and compassion that it made Castiel’s heart ache. “What do we say when we meet someone new?”

“Hello,” the twins said at the same time. “It’s nice to meet you,” one of them said it a little earlier than the other, and the other had to catch up.

Castiel bent down slightly to be closer to their level. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

“I hope you have a better day, Castiel,” she said, then more seriously. “Be careful.”

Castiel nodded in gratitude, “Thank you. I- I will.”

Kelly then took the hands of both of her boys again and, with a friendly nod, walked off again.

Castiel stood, feeling dumb, feeling listless. He felt like he was some creature flying aimlessly in the universe, not knowing what to do or where to go. He felt this infinite feeling but didn’t want to feel it. He wanted to be tied down, and he thought at this point in his life he would be. He wanted something to do; he wanted to be somebody.

Castiel found himself drifting to a library in Greenwich Village that he had almost completely forgotten about. He remembered that Ellen had taken him, Jimmy and Jo there a couple times when they were really little. It was a rare occasion, and they had only gone there if Jo had homework to do and she refused to focus at The Roadhouse. When he saw it across the street, the fond memories rolled in.

The library had a tall clock tower that surpassed the height of any other buildings in the area. Castiel look a minute to look up at it with awe. He went in, and the interior almost looked like a church. Books, he found, were another virtue in his life, growing up. Unlike religion, they were kind to him, they felt like home.

After scouring the shelves, he decided to reread a book by Hemingway. He read it a long time ago, but he didn’t remember why. Maybe it was for school, or because he wanted to know more about war. He sat by the window and read until it was dark outside.

It was time, he thought, to make his way toward Campbell’s. On his way down the street, the city seemed to be coming alive around him. There were large groups of people talking loudly and gossiping, and music was flowing from restaurant windows. Castiel heard a song with a slow piano and a man’s voice singing about someone he loves, a genderless “you.” _So warm_. The song had to be about a man. Castiel thought of sitting on the floor in Dean’s apartment, playing cards with him and Charlie and Jo, laughing and drinking and sitting close to Dean, feeling his warmth through his clothes.

**Tequila**

There was a long line out the door of young people dressed to the nines, ready to party. Castiel’s heart filled with pride for Dean and his little bar that was gaining so much popularity.

Just like he did on audition day, he slipped past people and cut the line. He entered the bar to see that the lights were down low. Dangling bulbs from the ceiling were set to a warm yellow, and a band played on the platform. It looked weird, seeing another band up there, when he wanted it to be him instead. However, the crowd would all sleep instantly.

The band had a rather enthusiastic saxophone player and a leader singer playing a steely electric guitar that Castiel, had to admit, quite liked the sound of. They played a riff, paused, then the whole crowd screamed at the top of their lungs- _Tequila!_ \- and the band went right back into the song.

And a crowd there was. It was a sea of dancing people, more than he’s seen ever in such a small space. It was even more packed than Swayze’s gets on a usual night. Couples were dancing close, women were huddled in packs, a man and a woman were kissing on the dance floor, while people spilled their drinks around them. Castiel felt anxiety rise slowly in him. He never really felt comfortable in these settings, in fact, he wasn’t sure what settings he felt comfortable in at all. The party, he remembered. Sam’s birthday party. Warmth filled his chest. It gave him confidence to navigate through the maze of a crowd and reach the bar.

Dean was there, looking busy as all hell and multitasking like a maniac. He still had a smile though, the most warm and genuine smile a person as busy as he could muster. Each person that collapsed drunkenly on a bar stool before him received such a smile and his undivided attention, if only for a split second. Castiel’s heart did cartwheels.

A second after Castiel sat down, Dean turned to him with his mind on work, ready to be the kind and accommodating bartender he was. But, when he saw Castiel, he collapsed in relief. He put his hands on the bar in front of Castiel and seemed to melt. “I’m so fucking glad you’re here,” he yelled out over the music.

“What the hell is this special event you told me so much about?” Castiel asked sarcastically.

“Ladies drink free. Fucking brilliant right?” Dean winked at him. “Only, I’m dying here. Charlie is out god knows where giving out drinks and Garth is working some kind of security, just making sure no one punches anyone. He’s so scrawny though, I’m sure that won’t go well. This is a fucking nuthouse. I’m up to my eyeballs in drunk people.”

“How can I help?” Castiel yelled as the saxophone seemed to get louder and another cheer of- _Tequila!_ -rang out.

Dean looked at Castiel like he had just found the holy grail. “You’ll help? You’re a fucking saint Cas! Get over here! Come behind the bar,” Dean said and waved Castiel forward wildly.

Castiel quickly made his way around the bar and then joined Dean at his side. Dean glanced at him quickly, then began explaining. “Okay, you do the simple stuff- vodka cranberries, beers, ciders, whatever.” With quick hands, Dean showed Castiel how to make a vodka cranberry. “Just don’t give too much vodka cause that shit is expensive. I’ll handle the crazy cocktails and crap like that. You good?”

“I think so,” Castiel said, although he was nervous as hell, and he felt his palms begin to sweat. Not only was he in the center of the party, but he also had to speak to almost everyone in the bar and be as competent and cool as Dean. Plus, he didn’t even get to be drunk himself.

Dean rested a hand on his shoulder, close to his neck and Castiel looked up at him. Dean’s eyes were soft under the yellow lights, and his skin glowed. “Hey,” Dean said reassuringly. “You’re gonna do great.”

Castiel nodded nervously and swallowed. Then, the war began. Castiel took the orders of a trio of very tipsy girls. Three Pink Squirrels, extra cherries. Castiel panicked and turned to Dean, who was using a towel to wipe away glass on the bar after someone slammed their drink down too hard. Castiel tentatively tapped on Dean’s shoulder. At first, Dean didn’t notice, then he practically slammed his hand down on Dean’s shoulder. Dean jumped and turned to him so quickly that they ended up nearly nose to nose. They stood for a split second, in shook at their closeness, then Castiel stepped back. Castiel cleared his throat and dropped his eyes to Dean’s chest. “Pink squirrels- I don’t-”

Dean seemed to snap into action and him and Castiel switched placed. Now they stood back to back as Castiel poured beers for customers, and Dean made complicated cocktails. Castiel has seen Dean pour drinks enough times that he knows to tip the glass to pour in the beer, so it didn’t bubble up and over the rim.

The next couple hours went quick. Dean, with Castiel’s help, could relax a little bit more and focus on the cocktails. Castiel watched helplessly as Dean flirted more and more as the night went on, with every woman that came up to the bar. They instantly all became smitten and kept coming up for more. Castiel knew this was a tactic to sell more drink, but he felt jealousy pool within him anyway, and he tried to dampen it down. Castiel felt drunk in proximity to Dean. Dean’s back every so often pressed to his, and their shoulders bumped together like Dean was checking if he was still there. They created this smooth rhythm that just got smoother the more they worked and before long, an easy smile was spreading on his face and calming his nerves. Dean had an equally warm smile to match his, and they laughed softly at each other whenever their eyes met.

Around 2, people started to funnel out of the bar, leaving an absolute tornado of a mess in their wake. Charlie and Garth came out of the woodwork. Charlie had a massive kiss of lipstick on her cheek, no doubt from a woman trying to impress a man but none the less a good battle scar. Garth was soaking wet somehow. Dean asked him what happened, and he said he lost track of how many people accidentally spilled their beers on him.

Lisa held back too, and Castiel hadn’t realized she was there at all. Dean greeted her and she kissed him on the lips than ran a hand through his hair, which was wild and sticking up from running himself ragged the entire evening. Castiel had to look away and impulsively grabbed a towel to start cleaning the bar.

Before he could put him out of his mind, Dean came around and slung a lazy, heavy arm over Castiel’s shoulders. Castiel practically held up most of his weight, but quite liked Dean leaning on him. “I couldn’t have done it without this man right here.” He looked at Castiel with a fond smile. Castiel kept his eyes forward. “Thank you, Cas. You’re a regular earth angel, you really are.”

“Earth angel?” Castiel questioned, then finally looked at Dean, their faces close.

“Oh, Dean don’t mention that song! It’ll get so stuck in my head,” Charlie said. She stood between Garth and Lisa who were watching Dean and Castiel with silly expressions.

“The Penguins are not bad!” Garth defended Dean. “I played them for my wife while I proposed!”

Charlie made gagging noises and Dean fell into a fit of laughter. He moved away from Castiel and went to go stand in front of Lisa, “Did you have a good time?” he asked her. Lisa nodded and kissed him again.

Castiel felt something twist within him. Castiel couldn’t stand it. He shuffled away from them and started gathering beer bottles off of tables.

The place was an absolute mess. Castiel found a discarded bra on the ground and Charlie almost died laughing when she saw him pick it up by one strap and look at it like was a dead fish he just found on the end his fishing line.

With that, they all began cleaning. Dean put on a song by The Everly Brothers. It was about loneliness and heartbreak and Castiel almost felt like it was written for him. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Dean and Lisa smiled and talked while Dean cleaned up and reorganized the bar.

Castiel wondered what they were to each other. Lovers? Fiancés? Maybe they were just friends who occasionally kissed. Maybe Dean was some kind of womanizer, and Castiel almost found more comfort in that thought. Womanizers were not ones to settle down, and they were often single. If Dean even felt remotely the same way Castiel did, he’d never want to settle in a million years.

“Ladies night was an absolute success!” Dean called out after he closed up the register and cracked open a beer.

“Don’t drink the merchandize,” Charlie mocked, with her hands on her hips.

“Want one?”

“Yes!”

“Beers for everyone!” Dean cheered and pulled out four more from under the counter. The group gathered around, but Castiel held back. He just watched Dean’s delighted smile as he opened beers for his friends, as Lisa leaned up against him, as Garth and Charlie smashed their bottles together and toasted.

“Cas,” Dean called over. “Want one?”

“I should get going, actually,” Castiel said, rubbing a hand through his hair which was most likely looking wild.

“Oh, come on,” Dean bemoaned. “Are your parents that strict?”

Castiel instantly felt embarrassment shock through him. Yes, he lived with his parents currently, but he didn’t want that flaunted in front of all of Dean’s friends. Especially not in front of Lisa, who gave him a blank look that didn’t look judgmental but didn’t look compassionate either.

Castiel cursed. “I just- I have to get up early tomorrow.” He lied.

Dean pouted. “Whatever,” he said. Castiel is beginning to hate how he says that to him, like he couldn’t care less what Castiel does or where he goes. Castiel wants very much for Dean to be interested.

They got right back to talking. Garth and Charlie chugged their beers which got them both drunk instantly. Castiel walked to the door. He couldn’t help it but stop and turn around. He looked back at the bar. Lisa wrapped herself around Dean’s arm but, to Castiel’s surprise, Dean was watching him. He sipped his beer slowly and Castiel couldn’t help but stare back.

Eventually, he wrenched his eyes away and left the bar.

It was cold outside. The sunny day had submitted to a crisp evening brightened silver by the moon. Castiel walked a block over and boarded the subway that headed uptown. When he got to his apartment building, a strange sick feeling came over him. He ran to an ally way between his apartment building and the bank next door and retched. He hadn’t had any alcohol all day, yet he felt the spins. Maybe it was from the adrenalin it took to bartend by Dean’s side all night. Maybe it was that fact alone: that he was by Dean’s side all night. Maybe it was because he knew Dean would never choose him. 

He willed himself to clear his mind, and then went up to his apartment. He didn’t want to talk to Donatello, didn’t want him to look at him with disappointment. He took the stairs.

A strange, far off, orange light was shining from under the front door of his parent’s apartment. He opened the door with nerves curdling inside of him and was met with the sight of his father, sitting on the couch in the living room with a dull orange lamp on. He seemed to have been waiting for him to come home.

“Young man,” Chuck said. “Where have you been all night?”

The sudden concern from his father knocked him off of his feet. He had come home the same time, if not later, last night and he didn’t even stir.

“We were waiting for you,” Chuck said. “Daphne came over for dinner, and Amara was here as well.”

It hit him. Daphne. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he muttered. His exhaustion and nerves made it hard for him not to curse.

His father spoke. “You are a disappointment. You know, I never thought you’d turn out like this. Parading around the city at any time you please, coming home drunk-”

“I’m not drunk,” Castiel said. 

“Hold your tongue and don’t interrupt me! You are a disgrace to this family!”

“What did you expect from me, dad?” Castiel said, feeling anger rise in him. “You’ve never even given me a second thought. You’ve ignored me all my life. Yet, here you are, caring about me now? Now, that you think I’ve failed everything. That’s when you care? That’s when you give a shit? Fuck this!” he yelled, and his father rose from the couch.

“Don’t you speak to me in that tone, boy. I am your father.” Chuck had these intense eyes, that seemed to grow evil and powerful. Castiel wasn’t intimidated.

“No, you’re not,” Castiel said. “You’re just some guy I barely know. Do you know anything about me, dad? Do you care?”

Chuck paused, and he seemed to grow angrier and angrier. “I want you out of this house!” Chuck yelled; the apartment seemed to shake.

“Good!” Castiel yelled. “I’ll pack my things.”

He ran into his room and grabbed his suitcase. He shoved anything he could find in it. A jacket, a pair of pants, some shirts. He stopped. Dean’s shirt. He forgot to return it. He shoved it in there too.

When he came back down the hall, lugging his suitcase, he saw Chuck was still red in the face and furious.

“You walk out that door, I never want to see you again. You hear me?” Chuck yelled.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way,” Castiel said, then slammed the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come be nice to me (please) on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/green-eyes-and-classic-rock)


	5. Legato

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> notes that are long, connected and seamless

“So much of life was the peeling away of illusions.”  
― Matthew Thomas

**La Fille aux cheveux de lin**

Just like the morning before, Castiel didn’t know where to go. He’s sure he left things at his parent’s apartment, but he didn’t care. He sat on the subway once again, the one that he always seemed to be riding up and down the city every single day. He longed to live in Greenwich, where the people are friendly, and Ellen can give him coffee with love and where a man named Dean can be seen behind his bar with a beer ready and a kind smile on his face.

Dean.

He knew Dean’s address, and there was no way in hell he’d crash at Jimmy’s or Lucifer’s house tonight.

It was a stupid idea, born out of desperation and a need for comfort. Castiel resented himself the moment he thought of it. Dean probably wouldn’t even let him in. Sam would be sleeping soundly not wanting to be disturbed and Lisa was probably over. It was a dumb idea. 

He figured he could check into a hotel or a hostel, but that would whittle away at the money he was saving for an apartment and completely beat the purpose of running away from his parents.

Reality set it. He had done it; he had finally broken away. Now that he has rebelled, he was angry at himself that he hadn’t done it sooner. But the city is a scary place, and if Castiel wasn’t ready to run from his parents, it would eat him up.

It was decided then. He’d make a fool of himself.

He switched subway lines and got on the one that took him towards the East Village. He got off on Dean’s street and found the building quickly. He looked up at the rustling tarp on the window.

He’d have to be buzzed in, and the thought of alerting the Winchester household of his presence at this hour struck so much embarrassment in him that he almost threw up again beside the apartment building. He worked up his courage and rang the bell for Dean’s apartment.

After a minute or so, he was buzzed in and he walked up the stairs in the apartment building, trying to be as quiet as possible, as he knew how thin the walls were.

When he got to the fourth floor, he saw Dean standing in the doorway of his apartment, leaning on the doorframe. He wore sweatpants and nothing on top but his talisman necklace. Castiel swallowed thickly and walked up to him. Dean had a worried, yet unsurprised expression on his face.

Castiel wanted to ask, “Did you expect this?” and he did. He said it out loud before he could stop himself.

Dean nodded slowly. “I knew you had to have some kind of shit going on with your parents,” he said. “I know the look, and well, if your dad is anything like mine…” Dean trailed off, and just looked at Castiel. Castiel tried very hard to keep his eyes on Dean’s face and didn’t look down at his bare chest.

“This is,” Castiel began, and felt very wrong. He began to turn around to go back the way he came. “This is ridiculous. I- I didn’t know what I was thinking.”

“Cas,” Dean said, and stood up straight. Castiel watched him, yet still stayed poised to leave. “You can stay here for a couple of nights or- hell, for as long as you need to.”

“No,” Castiel said. “I shouldn’t. You’re too kind and I can’t take advantage of that.”

“Well, I can’t have you out on the streets or crawling back to your parents.”

“But-”

“Look at you,” Dean said. “You’re literally something the upper east side spit up. You’d get eaten alive out there.”

Castiel sighed and dropped his head. “I’ll only stay tonight. Then, I’ll be out of your hair.”

“That’s a start,” Dean said and crossed his arms. “Get in here.”

Castiel paused for a second, looking at Dean. He looked holy, standing there with the kitchen light as a halo, his hair soft, his pants low on his hips exposing his hip bones and the subtle softness of his belly. Castiel wanted so badly to walk up to him like he was coming home from a long day, take him in his arms, place his hands on his chest and push him inside. But he walked slowly towards Dean and Dean moved to allow Castiel to walk through the door.

“You can take the pullout couch if that’s okay,” Dean said as he closed the front door behind him. 

“Dean,” Castiel said as he turned and reached out his arm toward him but thought better of it, leaving his hand awkwardly between them. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry,” he said. “And you can tell me all about it in the morning okay? For now, get some sleep.”

“Dean-”

“I’ll make breakfast and coffee and- oh,” Dean walked over to the couch in the living room as Castiel hovered in the hallway. “I’ll get you some new sheets for the bed.” The bed was still open from the party before and the sheets were disheveled and falling off the sides.

“I don’t mind,” Castiel said quickly.

“Let me at least make it for you,” Dean said and bent down to arrange the sheets. Castiel stood and watched him with his heart hurting, then he snapped out of it and went over to help him. He went to the other side of the bed and helped Dean straighten out the sheet. Castiel tried not to make eye contact with him, but he could feel Dean’s eyes on him. 

“You got something to sleep in?” Dean asked.

Castiel nodded. “Yes, I think I packed something. I was in such a rush. Oh, and I still have your shirt-”

Dean cut him off. “Go to sleep, Cas,” he said like it was an order and Castiel met his eyes. He let himself, just for a split second, trail his eyes down his face, then his neck, then his bare chest. He looked up again to see Dean watching him carefully.

Dean then sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He turned around and headed back towards his bedroom. “If I wake up tomorrow and see you left to go sleep on the street, I’ll kill you.” Dean disappeared around the corner.

Castiel looked down at the bed and tried to refocus himself.

This was a whole new low.

**M.A.Y. In the Backyard**

Castiel had a strange dream. Everything was washed in a dull grey light, particles of dust and dirt rose and danced in the air. He couldn’t breathe because of the smell, this sulfuric bloody smell. He was following a man through a dense forest. The man was tall and walked with conviction. He had a large weapon in his hand. Castiel’s vision was blurry, as if he was hallucinating everything. As if he had gone insane. He felt something evil inside of him. Shame. Why was it shame? The man in front of him turned and faced him. He was covered in dirt and blood and he reeked of body odor like he hadn’t washed in weeks. Castiel didn’t mind the smell, nor the mud on the man’s face. His face…it was Dean. He was older, his hair was matted down, his jaw was tight and sharp. His eyes were sad and tired, but they changed when they caught Castiel’s. A small spark of something ignited within them. _Cas_ , he said. _What do you want?_ Castiel didn’t feel like himself, and Dean didn’t feel like his Dean, but he knew it was them all the same. He knew it had to be them in some other world, in some other time. Castiel felt something burn soft and slow within him, a fire that grew when this Dean looked at him. _Don’t you see_ , Castiel told him. _I wanted you all along_.

Castiel woke up and instantly didn’t know where he was.

“Cas,” Dean said. “You awake? I’ve been calling you. What do you want?”

Castiel sat up in bed and remembered. He was utterly fucked. He ran away from home only to come crashing at his crush’s apartment. Yes, _fuck_ , he had a crush on Dean. As if life couldn’t get any more complicated. He rubbed his eyes and called out, “What?”

“For breakfast,” Dean yelled from the kitchen. Castiel looked over to see Dean near the stove, steam flowing to the ceiling, and the sizzling drowning out their voices. “We got eggs, bacon, pancakes, sausage. A whole Sunday morning feast.”

Castiel sat dumbfounded and didn’t give an answer. He just sat cross legged on the bed scratching his head. Dean can cook. _Fuck_.

“Can you quiet down?” Sam said, emerging from the hallway. “You’re yelling. The building across the street can probably hear you.” Sam sat down on one of the stools by the counter and curled himself around a cup of coffee.

“Shush, Sam,” Dean said. “I make the breakfast; I can be as loud as I want.”

“That makes no sense! And I could make breakfast if you’d let me,” Sam argued back.

“Nonsense,” Dean said, successfully quieting his brother. “Cas! You alive?”

Castiel ran a hand down his face, “Yes, sorry,” he called out. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.” Castiel opened his eyes and glanced around the small living room. Fireplace, old carpet, pictures on the mantel. 

He got up out of bed and tried desperately to flatten down his bedhead. He stumbled into the kitchen and Dean finally turned around to greet him. Dean was wearing a white apron that said _Kiss Me, I’m Irish_ , the same sweatpants and a white t-shirt now.

Castiel squinted. “You’re Irish?”

“Distantly,” Sam said from beside him. Castiel turned to look at him. Sam’s hair was a messy brown cloud. “On our mother’s side. Campbell is an Irish name.”

“And Sam is a nerd,” Dean said, waving around the spatula he held in his hand.

“Hey, you’re the one wearing the apron,” Sam objected.

“The bar is named after your mother?” Castiel said, aptly catching the detail Sam dropped for him.

Dean didn’t turn when he replied. He just said, “Yup,” as he flipped a piece of bacon.

“I should thank you both for allowing me to stay here,” Castiel said after a moment of silence. “And for breakfast.”

“No need to thank me,” Dean said, then turned to look at him and smiled devilishly. He pointed down at his apron. “Unless you want to kiss me.”

 _It is too fucking early for this_. It took everything in Castiel not melt into a puddle on the Winchester’s kitchen floor. “You wish, Winchester.” The uncommon confidence lit up inside of him. Perhaps he always felt this way in the mornings, when the air was chilled and the sun was new in the sky. Mornings were unfiltered, and rash from a lack of coffee.

“Fuck,” Sam said and laughed. Castiel looked at him to see half of his face hidden behind his coffee cup. He could still see Sam had on a big goofy smile. “You’re brave,” Sam said. “You know, Dean, we should keep him around. Nobody talks to you like that and to be honest your ego just keeps growing and growing.”

Dean stuck his tongue out at his brother, then brought the pan of bacon over to him and put some on Sam’s plate. Sam thanked him kindly and dug into his breakfast. Siblings, Castiel thought, are incredibly strange. Even though he had four brothers, he never had a relationship like Dean and Sam’s, one that seamlessly morphed from taunting to compassion. With Castiel, it was either one of the other. He lived in states of extremes, and the Winchester’s lived in comfortable in-betweens.

“Want coffee, Cas?” If Castiel didn’t know better, he’d say Dean’s cheeks looked pink. But it was probably from the steam coming off of the stove.

“Please,” Castiel replied.

This was the first-time eating breakfast with people he genuinely liked in a long while. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he actually sat down and enjoyed a breakfast- or any meal for that matter. The Winchester brothers were incredible company, he found, and they had a talent of making him feel cared for and included. Sam gave updates about Jessica with color in his cheeks, and Dean poked him with his elbow while giving words of encouragement.

Castiel found himself bonding with Sam over books. Sam was currently reading A Farewell to Arms. It was a strange coincidence that Castiel was rereading the same book at the library yesterday. Castiel didn’t want to say, but he knew the ending. It stuck with him, the way the ending of the story was so grim, vulgar and incredibly heart-wrenchingly lonely. He wanted to tell Sam to stop reading it, but he didn’t have the heart to quell Sam’s eager interest in learning.

Sam then mentioned Edgar Allen Poe again and Emily Dickinson and all these writers that wrote about such things like mortality and death. Dean smacked Sam on the arm and told him that this was not a light Sunday morning conversation over breakfast. Although they bickered, Castiel could tell that Dean loved his brother fiercely, and it almost made his heart twist to see the little makeshift life they’ve built around themselves, as the smallest yet warmest family Castiel ever knew.

“We’re going to Bobby’s today, remember?” Dean said to Sam as he bit off a piece of bacon. “I can drop you off at school again if you’d like or you can come with. Your choice.”

“I’ll come with. Is Cas coming?”

“What?” Castiel said right before he bit into a folk full of scrambled eggs.

Dean looked at him and seemed to think for a second, then nodded. “Yeah, Cas wanna come? Our uncle Bobby- well he’s not our real uncle, he’s our dad’s friend- he lives in New Jersey, moved in a couple years ago. Yes, I know, Jersey sucks. But he likes it out in the country. We visit him every Sunday.”

“I couldn’t possibly impose; you’ve already helped me so much,” Castiel said quickly as panic slowly rose within him.

“Pardon me, Cas,” Dean said. “But I feel like I know you, and I think if I let you have the day to yourself you’d either die of boredom or end up back at your parent’s house to keep on arguing with them for the fun of it. You can come with us. I’d like you too.”

Castiel looked between the brothers, absolutely dumbfounded. They must not be from New York, he thought. No goddamn way did they grow up here. They were too kind. Sam was looking at Castiel, eagerly waiting for him to answer, and he seemed excited, happy even at the prospect of Castiel coming with them. Dean just watched him calmly, then glanced down briefly to take a sip of coffee.

Castiel cleared his throat. “I guess I can come along,” he said, feeling so bad about it, but knowing Dean would not take no for an answer. “I haven’t seen the countryside in a while. Should be nice.”

“It is,” Sam said. “Bobby lives where all the farms are and mountains and rivers and cows and it’s quite beautiful.”

Castiel smiled, remembering all the times his family considered vacationing in some rural place, then decided against it after Luke and Michael’s persistent complaints. He lied about not seeing the countryside in a while, because truthfully, he’s never really seen it. They’d spend their vacation time in other cities. Washington D.C, Miami, Los Angeles. Castiel had always wanted to breath some fresh air for once; be around nature.

He had nothing else to do that day.

**Une Barque Sur L’océan**

After breakfast, the three of them walked down the street a couple blocks and entered a parking lot. The parking lot was decently run-down with uneven asphalt, potholes, and rusted up cars. Castiel felt it was some kind of joke when Dean insisted he had a car, and that any second the two brothers were going to turn around, burst into laughter at Castiel’s confused expression, and then head up to Penn Station.

But, no, Dean was completely stoic, even a little solemn as they walked through the parking lot. He kicked the bumper of an old junker from the 30s; he checked out the interior of a blue car with sagging tires. He looked like he was walking through a graveyard.

“This place is cheap,” Dean explained to Castiel. “Can’t really afford a fancy-ass parking garage yet but god knows my baby deserves better.”

“Your baby?”

They came up to a shiny black car with silver rims and spotless windows like Dean cleans it on a day-to-day basis. Dean patted it on the hood. “Nice, huh? 1952 Chevy Impala. Greatest thing I own.”

Sam didn’t waste any time admiring the car and climbed on into the passenger seat. “He does this every time we drive somewhere. Groping his car like a weirdo.”

“I love my car!” Dean said, then nodded to the backseat to tell Castiel to climb in. Castiel hesitated then opened the door and settled down into the seat behind Dean. He thought better of it and slid to the middle, so he can see the side of Dean’s face.

Dean started up the engine and it rumbled beneath them.

“Can you put on Elvis?” Sam said.

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean said passively and clicked on the radio. An Elvis song was playing, Jailhouse Rock, and Sam sat back and rolled down his window. Chilly air seeped through the car but the sun coming through the glass reassured them that the day would ultimately be warm. Dean drove out of the parking lot and down the street.

“You know, I don’t know what it is about music these days, but I feel like there’s something still yet to come. I don’t know, Sammy, ten or fifteen years from now there’s gonna be some damn good music.”

“He says this all the time,” Sam swiveled back to look at Castiel and slung his arm over the seat. “It just makes him sound pretentious.”

Dean huffed and slapped Sam gently on the shoulder. “I’m serious! There’s gonna be some kind of big revolution and bands from all around the world are gonna come and rise straight to the top of the charts. And cars too.” Dean smacked the side of the open window. “In ten or so years they’re gonna make these babies even better. Just make it bigger, flatten the hood a bit, give it some nice wheels and that would be a badass fucking car. Just you wait.”

“Yeah as long as this war doesn’t destroy the world,” Sam grumbled.

“What is with you and all this doom and gloom this morning? I’m telling you, everything is gonna be fine and before you know it, there’s gonna be peace on earth,” Dean said in a sing-songy way, like he didn’t quite believe it.

“Yeah unless people start rioting in the streets because the US wants to send a ton of soldiers across the world. Remember, they drafted Elvis. _Elvis._ Dean, what if I get drafted, huh?”

Dean’s demeanor suddenly turned serious. “Shut the fuck up, Sammy. You’re not gonna get drafted. And if you do, I don’t care what the rules are, I’m coming too. Look, things are a little crazy right now but there’s no need to lose your cool,” Dean glanced back at Castiel. “Not when we have a guest. A guest who just left a military academy.”

“It’s okay. Sam, I understand the anxiety.” Castiel said. Sam looked back at him with a concerned expression on his face. “I missed the draft for the war in Korea by a hair. I was a bit too young. Of course, if I was drafted, I would have gone. I was ready to volunteer even.”

“Why?” Dean asked gruffly, staring at the road ahead. “The government doesn’t give a fuck about us.”

“I believed it was honorable, I suppose.”

The car went silent. Castiel felt bad that he dwelled on Sam’s gloomy topic of conversation, but it was something he’s mulled over too much in his life to ignore. He decided to try and smooth over the tension in the car. “I do have to agree with Dean on the music, though,” he said. “I have that feeling too. Same with cars, I guess.”

He crossed his arms and perched them on the back of the front bench. He rested his chin down.

“Are you serious?” Sam and Dean said at the same time. Dean turned to look down at him; Castiel’s face was close to his shoulder.

Castiel nodded. “Sure. I like the music now-a-days, but I can see that happening.”

Castiel could see Dean smile as he turned back to the road. “I just feel out of place sometimes. Like I belong in a different time,” Dean said.

“So pretentious,” Sam groaned and opened up his book to start reading.

Dean turned up the music. It cascaded through the windows and leapt off the buildings and the people walking in the village. They went downtown toward the Holland Tunnel. The ride was mostly quiet. Sam read. Dean drove and the lights from the tunnel dragged over his face beautifully, like he was a Hollywood star. Castiel just sat and watched. He felt honored to be introduced into the Winchester’s little world.

Dean lit up a cigarette and Sam bickered with him about quitting. Then they joked about whatever drama was happening at Sam’s school that week. Castiel just observed them, and before long the Winchesters felt comfortable with his presence, like he was always there, and they just hadn’t noticed before. A slow dream-like song played in his head that made him sleepy. The sun shifted in golden patterns. The day was waking up.

They drove about an hour out into the New Jersey countryside. Castiel noticed the way the streets and buildings were cramped and dirty closer to the city but as they drove farther and farther west, it all smoothed out, the buildings became sparser, and nature had the freedom to stretch her legs.

Mountains rolled high and low, the highways laced through them, and they were dotted with green grass and dark trees. The sky cleared up and Castiel was gifted with the bluest sky he’s seen in a while. He saw rivers and lakes and deer jumping between the trees alongside the highway. Soon enough, they were in a small town. There was one two-lane highway running through it, one pharmacy, one stoplight, a fire station, one church that looked pristine and well attended, and farm after farm. They drove through a forest, on the edge of a cliff, and Castiel peered down to see a green river down below and small houses with long winding driveways.

On the edge of the forest was a dark green house with peeling roof panels. Next to it, Castiel could see, was a horse farm set far beyond the road in an open field.

“We’re here,” Dean said, and Sam woke from a nap he was taking. Castiel stared out the window in wonder at all the green.

The house looked cozy and lived in, if not a little in need of repair. It sat lopsided on the hilly terrain. A rusted old truck sat in the driveway and a dog sat on the hood. It was a black Rottweiler that looked rather intimidating. He surveyed the visitors with a heavy gaze, a deep growl was growing in his chest.

“Down dog,” a man said as he emerged from the front door of the house. He was an older man with a beard and a worn baseball cap. “It’s Sam and Dean, you dumb old thing.”

“Yeah, well I brought a plus one,” Dean said as all three of them got out of the car. Castiel stood awkwardly beside the car as Dean circled around and clapped him on the shoulder. “Castiel, this is Bobby Singer. Bobby, this is Castiel…shit, wait,” Dean’s smile dissipated, and he looked at Castiel with a confused expression. “I don’t even know your last name.”

Castiel held out his hand and stepped forward a bit to meet Bobby. Bobby gave him a weighted, judging look, then shook his hand. “Castiel Novak, sir. It is very nice to meet you.”

“Sir?” Bobby said and his eyebrows rose. “Woof. Can you teach my boys some manners like that while you’re here. I’d appreciate it.”

Castiel instantly felt calmed and the tension left the air. He liked Bobby instantly, and he could tell that Bobby was trying to tell him calm the hell down.

“Come on in,” he said. Sam and Dean stood awkwardly behind Castiel, but Bobby waved them towards the house. “You gonna stand there and waste my time or are you two gonna make yourselves useful like you always try so hard to do.”

Dean breathed out a laugh and glided towards Bobby’s house with Sam on his heels. As he passed Castiel, he tapped him lightly on the arm with his elbow then nodded towards the house.

Bobby’s house was as disheveled as the outside looked, but Castiel loved how homey it felt; how meticulously organized in such a strange and nonconforming way it was. He noticed how everything in the Winchester’s life made his parent’s apartment look like a sterile hospital in comparison. Not that that apartment ever felt homey or warm in the first place. These spaces, however, made the difference even more striking.

Bobby had a small kitchen and off to the left was a living room with piles of books on every surface. Bobby instantly went to the fridge and pulled out four beers. He threw one to Dean, to Sam, then nodded to Castiel to ask if he wanted one too. Castiel nodded, and he caught the beer once Bobby threw it. They all took a second to crack open the bottles, then Bobby leaned back on the wooden table behind him.

“I got a bit of work for you today,” Bobby said to Dean. “A couple new cars came in that need parts stripped from.”

“No problem,” Dean said.

“Sam,” Bobby said. “I got that book you wanted.”

“You found it?” Sam said, excitedly after he swallowed a mouthful of beer.

“Of course, I found it. Who do you think I am? Come here,” Bobby said as he set down his beer on the table and walked off into the living room. Sam followed him and Castiel and Dean were left alone in the kitchen.

“They’re so lame,” Dean said then took another small sip of beer. “Sam’s been looking for this book for a while about monsters or something. Bobby used to teach a class about old American folk lore and stuff. Well, before he moved here.”

“I find that quite interesting, actually,” Castiel said as he took a sip.

“Of course, you would,” Dean replied with a mocking smile.

Bobby and Sam came back into the kitchen. Sam was holding a rather old and large book in his hand with yellowed pages. “Don’t dillydally around,” Bobby said to Dean. “I need you working on the cars.”

“Alright, alright,” Dean said with his hands up then set down his now-empty beer on the counter. “Cas, come with me.” He waved Castiel along as he left through the back door of the house and went out to the backyard. Castiel tentatively followed him, feeling Bobby’s eyes on his back.

He followed Dean out to what looked like a small junkyard. The frames of cars were left discarded on the grass, several cars were lined up in a row with their hoods open, and a large table of tools was lined up along the back side of the house. Dean went up to a new looking car with no tires.He clapped his hands then rubbed them together as he inspected the car, kneeling down to look under the hood and everything.

“Do you come here every Sunday?” Castiel asked. He felt more comfortable in this setting now as the beer sunk in.

Dean stood up straight and met his eyes, then walked over to stand beside him. He put his hands on his hips and surveyed the cars. “Absolutely,” he said. “As much as I like the bar, this is my true love.”

“Cars?” Castiel asked. “You like fixing cars?”

“Anything to do with cars,” Dean said, passion bubbling off on him. Castiel liked how it looked on him. “Taking them apart, repairing them, upgrading them, anything.”

“That’s very admirable,” Castiel said. “You being so passionate about something.”

“Oh, come on,” Dean said. “You know what it’s like. You’re passionate about your Bach and Mozart and Lisp.”

Castiel couldn’t help but laugh. “Liszt,” Castiel corrected. He looked down at his feet. “But yes. I really am.”

“Bobby has me come out here every week and help out,” he walked towards the new cars again and put his hands on the hood of one. “You can sit over there if you want,” Dean said as he pointed to a picnic table to the left of the small backyard. “You can, you know, watch the show.” Dean winked.

Castiel rolled his eyes and went over to sit at the table. He set his beer down and circled his arms around it. Dean smiled and proceeded to take off his overshirt, revealing just a grey t-shirt underneath, and he set his shirt down in a pile on the table. Castiel forced himself to look down at the label of his beer.

Dean got to work. He rummaged through the tools then went over to the first car in the line with a wrench and a tool Castiel did not recognized. He was sure Dean knew was he was doing. Dean got on his back on the ground and started tinkering with the underside of the car.

The world went quiet save for the metallic sounds of Dean working on the car and the light rustle of windchimes above the backdoor. Castiel breathed in fresh air and he loved to see the sunlight roam over the hills in the background. He occasionally heard the stomp of houses out in the distance. The heat made the whole world look hazy, and Castiel heard cicadas buzzing.

He could see himself staying here forever. He could see why Dean loved it so much. He could translate the landscape into a song, the same slow song that he wrote in his head as he watched Dean drive. It built up then mellowed down and made him feel like he was floating up in the cloudless sky. He took a moment to let himself imagine living here with Dean. This, for a split second was not Bobby’s house but theirs, and they had just awoken to greet the spring day. As quickly as the thought came, he allowed it to dispel from him without grief over the loss. His mind was blank thereafter.

After a while, Sam came out and sat beside Castiel on the bench. They talked calmly about the book Sam was reading. Sam told him that he doesn’t come by Bobby’s house every week, like Dean does, but whenever he does come around, he can take as many books as he wants from Bobby’s collection. He then smiled and told him that he too can go select any book he wanted to read. Castiel couldn’t ignore the offer, and he went inside to explore the books.

When he got inside, he saw Bobby drinking a second- or third- beer, and he was preparing sandwiches for them all. Bobby greeted him and Castiel said, “Thank you for allowing me to come by.”

Bobby shrugged. “Dean’s talked about you enough. Though he’s never really brought friends here before.”

“Oh.” Castiel said, trying to ignore the way his body felt ignited by the idea that Dean talked about him. “Well…I’m very grateful he invited me. You have a lovely home.”

Bobby grunted what Castiel assumed was a thank you- or an expression of disbelief- and went back to making sandwiches. “You can read something if you want. I got too many books.”

“I would love to, thank you,” Castiel said as he moved over to the living room. He wasn’t sure where to start. Each stack of books looked precariously arranged as if they were about to topple over. But, upon closer inspection, Castiel could see each pile was studiously organized into themes. There was a pile about Greek mythology, another about vampires, another about Christian lore.

Castiel picked up the book on the top about angels. He opened the book to a painting with two winged guys standing in a field. In the footnotes, Castiel saw it was Michael and Gabriel. He laughed as he saw the painting underneath it. It depicted the devil, Lucifer, surrounded by flames. “My siblings and I are all named after angels,” Castiel said to Bobby.

Bobby hummed from the kitchen. “Sucks for you. They’re all dicks.”

“I believe it,” Castiel said. It felt strange to denounce his religion in such a way. But, after all, it was his parent’s religion and barely his. He felt a secret thrill within him, speaking ill against something his mother and father stood by so fastidiously.

Despite his objection towards it, Castiel decided to pick up an interesting looking book about heaven. He flipped through it, seeing a long list of angels’ names, theories on what heaven is like, and bible verses. He mostly selected it for the pictures. There was the classic pearly gates, harps, halos. 

“I’ll read this one,” he told Bobby, then went out to the backyard once again.

Dean was now fiddling with the hood of a car. He was trying to disconnect it, Castiel figured, and he was going in with a wrench. Sam sat quietly on the picnic table, drinking soda and nearing the end of the book he was reading. A Farewell to Arms, Castiel saw, and he waited eagerly for Sam’s review. He sat down at the picnic table next to Sam and flipped through the pages with pictures. They read for a bit in silence, then out of the corner of his eye, Castiel could see Sam turning to the last page of his book. His eyes skirting across the page quickly. Then, he closed the book and set it down before him.

“Fuck,” Sam said. “What the fuck was that?”

Castiel closed his book and gave Sam his attention.

“He ends up alone? After everything he’s been through? His wife and kid are just dead? How could Hemingway do that to his character? He should have ended up happy with the person he loves. Why did he completely destroy his life?”

Castiel mindlessly glanced over at Dean. “Sometimes we don’t end up happy even if we deserve it. It’s realistic I think,” he told Sam.

“I think that’s bull crap,” Sam said, and Castiel looked over at him. “It doesn’t matter if it’s not realistic. Stories should end happily or have some kind of semblance of hope. Every one of us hopes for a happy ending, you know, finding love, settling down. I’m sick of stories ending sad. It’s revolutionary to end them happy, you know?”

“Maybe books like that help to lower our expectations,” Castiel said quietly.

“Life is already hard,” Sam said. “Stories should be an oasis.”

Castiel hummed a response that he wasn’t sure was him disagreeing or agreeing to Sam’s arguments. He watched Dean again, unconsciously staring at the side of his face as Dean concentrated and stuck his tongue in the corner of his mouth.

Sam and Castiel sat in silence for a minute. Castiel could feel waves of dissatisfaction and unsettlement coming from Sam. Then, Bobby emerged from the back door of the house, rattling the wind chimes. “I have lunch ready if you idjits wanna quit whining about books like a couple of girls. Yeah, I heard all that.”

Sam’s whole demeanor changed, and he seemed to shake off the disturbing ending of the book with casual ease as he stood and walked towards the house for lunch. Castiel sat frozen for a minute and glanced over at Dean. Dean straightened up and he walked over to the table to set down his tools. His shirt was covered in motor oil, and he had bits of it on his face as well. Dean, Castiel realized, had the superhuman ability to look attractive even when covered in muck.

“Hey,” Dean said as he leaned forward and rested his hands on the table before Castiel.

“Hi,” Castiel said as he got up slowly.

He looked up, caught Dean’s eye, and Dean gave him an irresistible half smile that filled Castiel’s stomach with nerves. The nerves felt good though, welcomed, and they buoyed him up to confidence. He looked at Dean with as much admiration as he wanted. Dean seemed to return the sentiment.

“Boys!” Bobby called again from inside the house.

“Come on,” Dean said and nodded for Castiel to follow him. They went up the small steps to the backdoor, rattled the windchimes, and went inside.

**To a Wild Rose**

The lunch he had with the Winchester’s and their surrogate father was one of the liveliest meals Castiel has ever had. They all laughed about movies and television shows. Sam described with passion all about the little pranks him and his brother pulled on each other sometimes. Castiel explained to Bobby all about piano and, inevitably, he had to speak about West Point.

Bobby, sensing his discomfort, immediately described to Castiel how war is all about money-hungry and bloodthirsty rich guys duking it out for power. Bobby was a WW2 veteran himself, he told Castiel, and as much as he didn’t regret it, the pain from it lasted on and will for the rest of his life. Castiel thanked him for his service. 

After lunch, Bobby asked Castiel and Dean to go check on Jody Mills next door and see if she needed any help with her horses. Castiel, admittedly, had never seen a horse out in the countryside, only the ones in Central Park that looked incredibly sad and shackled down.

Dean lead him out past the backyard and on a dirt path down a hill. Dean had changed into a clean white t-shirt and he washed his face off. Castiel could tell he was in his element among the trees. He bounced along the trail in front of Castiel, kicking up dirt and breathing in deeply. He turned when he got to the bottom of the hill, and watched Castiel descend. Castiel stopped next to Dean and Dean gave him a smile before going onward on the trail.

They reached a clearing and Castiel saw a couple of corrals with a black horse in one and a couple of tan horses in the other. There was a bigger corral in the distance and Castiel could see several girls riding horses. One was in a gallop and jumped over a huge log. Dean led him to a small barn ahead.

“Jody is one of the nicest people I know,” Dean told him, falling into step with Castiel. “She’ll like you.”

Castiel wondered how Dean could be so sure.

Dean lead him into a small stable with horses on either side. He stopped briefly to pet the head of a small speckled horse that Castiel thought looked like a large Dalmatian. Dean then ducked into an office in the back. A fan was blasting, there was hay scattered on the cement floor, and at a small desk sat a woman with her boots up on the table. She was reading a teen magazine with a portrait of Ricky Nelson on the cover.

When she saw Dean come in, the woman set down her magazine then swung her legs off the table. “Dean!” she called out. “How you doin’ kiddo?” she asked as she got up and wrapped Dean in a hug.

“Oh, you know, just the usual. But I brought a friend,” Dean said, and he gestured to Castiel.

Castiel awkwardly rose his hand to greet her. “Hello, my name is Castiel. It’s very nice to meet-”

Jody cut him off by pulling him into a hug as well. “Dean never brings friend’s around!” Jody exclaimed and patted Castiel on the shoulder. “Nice to meet you.”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck and caught eyes with Castiel only for a second. “Bobby told me to ask you if you needed any help.”

Jody put her hands on her hips. “Do you know anything about teenagers?” she asked.

“What?” Dean asked.

“Alex. She’s my newest student. She’s incredible at riding; she has a real talent. But she is an absolute nightmare.”

“Well, Sam was kind of a teenage nightmare too so I could probably give you some pointers.”

Castiel watched as Dean passionately talked about his brother and Jody listened to him closely like he was Benjamin Spock speaking about childcare. Dean told her all about Sam’s rebellious stage in his tween years when he dated this girl named Ruby who had a terrible attitude and was an awful influence on him. He told how Sam used to go from hobby to hobby and had an incredible amount of interests. “One way to get a teenager to talk to you”, he said, “was to talk about whatever random thing they liked that day. Worked on Sam all the time.”

Jody thanked him extensively then told the two of them that there was a trail out in the forest behind the corral that needed to be cleared a bit. They’d have to walk the path and pick up any debris that fell from the storm a couple of weeks ago.

Dean instantly got on the case and Castiel followed him back outside into the sun. They passed the fenced-in area where riders were practicing and Dean waved at them, even though Castiel doubted he knew them. Dean was in such an incredibly sunny mood that it went straight to Castiel’s heart and he couldn’t help but mirror the wide smile Dean had on his face.

They circled around and came to the start of the path, which was like a small sliver of clearing between large trees. The forest beyond was dense and green and the ground steamed from the sunlight.

“Do you ever do this?” Dean asked him. “Walk through nature?”

Castiel was going to answer but Dean cut him off before he could.

“Central Park doesn’t count,” Dean said.

Castiel tried his best to give him a serious glare, but it ended being a fond smile. “All jokes aside,” Castiel said after a moment of comfortable quiet between them. “No, I don’t do this often. In fact, not really ever.”

“Never?” Dean asked. “Not even at West Point?”

“I never really left my dorm,” Castiel said and laughed quietly. “And I’ve lived in the city all my life.”

“I don’t think I could live without stuff like this,” Dean said and rose his hand up to the sky and waved at the trees.

“Did you grow up around here?” Castiel asked.

“No,” Dean said. They settled into a slow pace, their steps in sync. Castiel listened fondly to the crunch of dirt and sticks beneath their feet. He loved the noises they made. “I grew up in Kansas, actually.”

“Kansas? That’s so far.”

“Well, I wanted to go far.”

“Why?”

Dean looked down at his feet and scuffed the toe of his boot in the dirt a little bit. “I had to.”

Castiel just watched the side of his face. He saw how Dean looked like he was holding back, like there was still a curtain that needed to be drawn between them. After a second, like any sign of insecurity was an illusion, Dean perked up again and gave Castiel a crooked smile. They looked at each other for a bit, both unconsciously slowing down.

Then, Dean looked forward and bolted ahead. Castiel stared in shock for a minute as Dean ran down the path further into the woods. He saw his hair shake a bit in the wind and his back muscles work, his leg muscles, his ass. _Focus_.

It took a minute to register that Castiel should chase after him, but when it clicked, he ran ahead to follow Dean. It was hard running on the path, and Castiel had to watch his feet with laser focus in order to avoid tripping on any roots sticking out of the ground.

A couple minutes passed of running, focusing on the ground, listening to the rhythm of his breath, zoning out, and then, he smacked right into a warm obstacle in his way. Dean had stopped in front of an open field, and the sun was gorgeously illuminating the thick grass. The path, which was now just a subtle parting of grass, ran directly through the field. Dean turned his head to look at Castiel, their faces only inches apart. Castiel forgot to step away. Their heavy breath from running mingled together, and it took a minute for Castiel to realize that his chest was pressed up against Dean’s back. Castiel eyes helplessly flicked down to Dean’s lips. He then shook his head and stepped back. Dean stayed put.

“Nice isn’t it?” Dean said, his voice hoarse. He was looking at Castiel closely, with an intensity in his eyes.

Castiel nodded and took a deep breath then let it out. It actually was a gorgeous sight, and something Castiel had not seen often in his life. An open field. No people. No buildings in the background. The sound of cicadas and birds chirping.

“Race you to the middle?” Dean said. Then, before Castiel could respond, he bolted forward just like he did before.

“Cheater!” Castiel yelled then chased after him. He was able to catch up with Dean and he came up right next to him. They ran at the same speed, and for a few moments Castiel felt invincible, like nothing existed outside this open field, beyond the trees that bordered it. They sprinted in a perfect, matched speed. Their feet landed in a pounding rhythm that reminded Castiel of the steady beat of a piano pedal. He could hear Dean’s heavy breathing and for some reason, it comforted him greatly, to hear him beside him. It made him think what it would feel like to make Dean breath heavily in other ways, by kissing him or touching him.

As they were getting closer to the center of the field, they slowed down, and then Dean collapsed on the ground and started laughing, holding his stomach.

Castiel slowed and put his hands on his knees, breathing heavily and trying to hold back laughter. He watched as Dean propped himself on his elbows, and their eyes met. “Damn that felt good,” Dean said breathless and Castiel’s stomach fluttered.

Dean fell on to his back again and laid his arms out at his sides. Castiel gave in and lied down next to Dean on the grass.

They sat in silence for a few moments, just basking in the sun like cats, and letting their breathing go back to normal. Castiel looked over at Dean to see that his eyes were closed. The sun kissed his skin, and it glowed from a thin sheen of sweat. He looked absolutely radiant.

“I like the way you talk about Sam,” Castiel said and immediately wanted to take it back. As true as it was, it revealed too much of how he felt.

Dean blinked open his eyes then turned his head and looked at Castiel. Their faces were so close that Castiel stopped breathing. “What do you mean?” Dean asked.

Castiel looked away and focused on a cloud that had emerged in the sky, a single, lonesome cloud. It kind of looked like a boat with a mast and sails. “I like to see you talk about people you love. You light up.”

Dean didn’t respond instantly to that but looked up at the sky as well. He must have noticed the boat. “I practically raised him,” Dean said. “Well…I did raise him.

“You did?”

“Yeah,” Dean said slowly, and Castiel dared to glance at him out of the corner of his eye. He looked serious, like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“My dad, I told you about him, he’s not- he’s not a very good guy. When I turned eighteen, Sam and I left. We just up and left. My dad was…” Dean took in a sharp breath. “My dad was pretty abusive to Sam and me. He used to have these fits of rage where he’d throw stuff and break furniture. He’d mostly take it out on me, and I have the scars to prove it. But the second he laid a hand on Sam…we had to leave.” Dean’s jaw tightened, like he still had anger inside of him, and he kept his eyes on the sky. “I’m sure you didn’t wanna hear a fucking sob story though, sorry.”

Castiel sat up on his elbows and looked down at Dean’s face. “Don’t apologize,” he said fiercely.

Dean’s eyes traveled down to his lips.

Castiel laid back down and stared up at the sky. His heart jumped in his chest.

“I miss this though,” Dean continued. “Lawrence, where I grew up, had all these open fields and nature and fresh air and all that. This kind of stuff is still a part of me, you know.”

“That’s beautiful,” Castiel said.

“Yeah I’m a fucking poet,” Dean said and laughed.

Castiel couldn’t help but laugh too.

“I do miss it there though. So goddamn much,” Dean said.

“Would you ever go back?”

“I don’t think so,” Dean’s voice was quiet. He almost sounded unsure, like he was lying.

Castiel didn’t respond. He let the silence stretch between them comfortably. The sun was growing softer on them, and it didn’t shine directly in their eyes anymore.

“This is mine,” Dean said. “The city. The bar. Out here. It’s all mine. My father can’t touch it. Back in Lawrence, that’s all my dad’s territory. If I go there, I’d be in his clutches again. I wouldn’t have anything that was authentically mine. Here, I’m me. I’m myself. I can do whatever I want.”

Castiel turned his head and admired the side of Dean’s face as he talked.

“And it would hurt to see that house again. Just like it hurt seeing it every damn day walking home from school.”

“Why?” Castiel asked, his voice small.

“There was a fire when I was little. My father was off in the war. My mother ran to check on us…and she got us out of the way. I ran outside with Sam in my arms. But, she got stuck in there...”

Castiel stopped breathing, and Dean swallowed thickly. “They repaired the house and had it ready before my dad got back from the war. But, you know, it was never the same. How could it be? So, we moved. My dad would cry every day, you know, he’d breakdown. He’d always say- _it should have been me; it should have been me_. I was young but it was hard, you know. I guess, if your father goes off to war, you expect him to die and not your mother, who is safe at home.”

Silence settled between them. Castiel fought every urge to reach out and wrap his arms around Dean, hold him until he felt as though he could protect him from anything. He settled on just watching the side of Dean’s face. Then, Dean turned to him, and he looked so broken and opened up that Castiel knew the curtains had been drawn, that so little people had seen him like this.

“I’m happy I met you,” Castiel murmured. It wasn’t an apology to Dean for the hardships in his life. Castiel wasn’t sure how to even show the pain he felt for what Dean went through. He figured Dean didn’t want an apology.

He was right. A ghost of a smile passed on Dean’s lips and Castiel wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t looking at them. “You’re such a sap,” Dean said.

They both looked away, and Castiel closed his eyes, taking in the afternoon sun and letting the grass tickle the back of his neck. He breathed in deep, and after a while spoke. “I wish I felt the way you do,” he said. “I wish I had something that was mine. Most of the time, I feel empty.”

“When do you not?” Dean’s voice was groggy and sleepy. His eyes were still closed.

“What?”

“You said most of the time. When do you not feel empty?”

Castiel didn’t know how to answer.

“When you play?” Dean asked.

Castiel considered it for a minute. “Maybe,” he said. “I don’t know. Do you ever feel wrong? Like you could exist anywhere in space and time, yet you exist as you are. I feel like, when I play, all those different timelines, all those different paths and dimensions all just combine. I feel like myself. In every version I could possibly be.”

Dean let that sit between them for a while, then breathed out a laugh. “You should say all that philosophical stuff to Sam, he’d love it.”

Castiel laughed and sat up. He felt blood rush through his head and his vision went blurry for a second. Then, it all came back into view, the field, the sun. He wished he could have it forever. He wished he could have Dean forever. He wished Dean felt for him the way he did.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean sit up as well. Then, as if it was the most casual thing in the world, Dean leaned against him. Their shoulders were heavy against one another, and Castiel’s heart instantly hammered in his chest. He wanted to melt into Dean entirely.

They were silent, just listening to each other’s breathing. After a minute or so, Castiel glanced over at the same time Dean did. They just looked at each other. Dean’s eyes dropped to Castiel’s lips.

Castiel stayed as still as he could. Dean’s gaze was heavy on him; his eyes explored his face without shame or embarrassment. He licked his lips. Castiel licked his own out of impulse, and his heart was threatening to crawl out of his chest and explode between them. Dean leaned forward just a bit, and then an inch more.

It was then that Castiel turned away from Dean despite every cell in his body sprinting towards him. Dean had leaned forward enough that his nose just barely brushed Castiel’s jawline, and shivers ran all over Castiel’s body. When Dean moved back, Castiel instantly felt cold all over his body, and he wanted to hide away in a dark and lonely place for the crime of destroying what was happening between him and Dean. He exhaled sharply and stared forward.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Dean whispered, and it made Castiel panic more.

Castiel stood up quickly and brushed the dirt and grass from the back of his pants.

“Cas?”

“We should get back,” Castiel said and started to walk back to the line of trees. He hated himself very much, but he had to commit now.

“Look, I know that was wrong, and I shouldn’t have done- whatever,” Dean said as he got up and chased after Castiel. “But you don’t have to be a dick about it.”

“About what?”

“Are you fucking serious?”

Castiel didn’t turn back. If he was going to be an asshole, he had to commit to it. He couldn’t reveal to Dean that’s he’s wanted this all along, and that it wasn’t just the result of a romantic setting and an adrenalin rush like it was for Dean.

“It was a mistake okay? Jesus,” Dean said.

Castiel kept walking. “We didn’t clear any of the path,” he said.

Dean groaned. “It looked fine.”

Castiel entered the path between the trees again and watched his feet the whole time. Dean walked a couple yards behind him, and Castiel could hear each footstep he made. His and Dean’s were incredibly out of sync and it was all his fault. He told himself this was due to self-righteousness. Yes, that’s it. He didn’t want Dean to kiss him, because he didn’t want Dean to have that power over him. He didn’t want Dean to kiss him then forget it ever happened, flirt with girls at the bar, and kiss Lisa again and again.

He walked on and crushed his hand into a fist so hard that his nails dug into is palm.

****

**Nocturnes: C sharp minor Op. posthumous**

Dean and Castiel did not talk for the rest of the day. Dean exchanged friendly conversation with Jody once when they got back to the barn, but then afterward stormed off to Bobby’s house without checking once if Castiel was still behind him.

They ate dinner as if nothing was wrong. Castiel was mostly silent, and only zoned into the conversation when Bobby asked him something about the city, or his parents. He kept the details to a minimum and could feel Dean’s eyes on him. But, when he looked over, Dean instantly looked away.

Sam must have noticed the tension because the car ride home he kept the conversation afloat. He talked all about the colleges he intends to apply to later in the year, Stanford being the one he’s most excited for. Castiel asked questions with genuine interest. He was able to forget for a moment the mortifying mistake he made with his and Dean’s relationship. Dean kept silent the whole ride home.

Castiel felt incredibly ashamed to be staying at the Winchester’s apartment for another night. But it was Sam this time that insisted. He wanted to show Castiel his records in the morning: his Elvis ones, his Ricky Nelson ones. Castiel knew it was just an excuse to allow more time for the tension between him and his brother to resolve. Sam may act casual, but damn, he knew his brother well.

In the middle of the night, he heard a clattering of dishes in the kitchen. He awoke slowly and sat up only to see a familiar figure working over the sink. His shoulders rolled comfortably, and he stood with a smooth confidence in his body that only came from knowing oneself well. It was Dean, pouring himself a glass of water. He leaned against the counter to sip it slowly. Castiel rubbed his eyes and looked closer. Dean was illuminated only by the moonlight coming through the window above the sink, but Castiel saw he was looking at him.

Castiel wanted to go to him. He felt every bone in his body fighting him to get up and go to Dean. He shifted in bed and swung his legs over the side slowly, but before he could stand and approach Dean in the kitchen, Dean had already disappeared back into his bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah I added some songs from call me by your name..............yes I did
> 
> Come be nice to me (please) on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/green-eyes-and-classic-rock)


	6. Grave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solemn, contemplative and deeply emotional

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: castiel experiences a lot of grief and a bit of dissociation from reality during this chapter. Also, towards the end of the chapter there's mention of someone harming themselves. Please read with caution.

“The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places.”

― Ernest Hemingway

**Herz und Mund und Tat und Leben**

Nerves made Castiel wake up before the sun. He quickly dressed, packed his bag, and even stripped the mattress of sheets and folded it back into the couch. The apartment was still stuck in nighttime, as it had been when Castiel saw Dean at the sink. He was beginning to think he dreamed that.

He walked as quietly as he could to the front door of the apartment and twisted the knob, only hearing it squeak the tiniest amount. Then, he froze. Dean would worry. He bit his lip, swiveled around and tip-toed back to the kitchen. He quietly sifted through a basket on the counter and plucked out a receipt that looked forgotten and unimportant. He found a pen on the table as well, set on the page of a law book Sam had been studying. He scribbled on the receipt quickly: _Thank you. I’ll see you at the bar._

He set the note down on the kitchen table, then finally slipped out of the apartment and went down the chilly hallway.

The plan was simple: find an apartment. Perhaps if he had his own place then he could unpack his brain, spread out his thoughts across several rooms, store some in the kitchen cupboards, or tuck some under a bed.

It was raining. The world was dark and gray after a string of sunny days. God had a sense of humor, Castiel thought, and he likes to mess with him.

It shouldn’t be too hard. Before Castiel fled his apartment, he made sure to have his stash of cash still in his briefcase. He had a bit of money from working random jobs before West Point. Then he had a decent amount from Charlie’s store and from Campbells. It could set down two or so months in an apartment.

It was a stressful day and reminded Castiel of one of his first days enrolled in West Point. He had to move into his dormitory and meet his roommate. Gadreel, a tall and muscular man with a tight square jaw, just glared at Castiel like he wanted to stick a pencil through his neck.

Castiel hated moving due to the sheer idea that it makes you feel homeless for a split second. He felt homeless the whole day. He was homeless.

Around 3 pm, he was walking through Greenwich and wandered near Washington Square Park. Along the street, he saw a vacancy sign for a rather narrow dark red building. It wasn’t the ugliest building he’d ever seen, but nothing in the upper east side could even come close to the ramshackle the building seemed to be in. The bricks were chipped, a fire escape off to the side was so rusted that it looked as if it would snap apart and crumble to the ground if someone simply tapped it; the glass of all the windows were so old that they were yellowing. He stepped into the lobby of the apartment building and saw a grumpy looking man behind the counter. His hairline was receding, and he had dark eyes that looked sinister. Castiel came up to the desk, but the man did not look up from the magazine he was reading. It was some kind of true crime magazine about the mafia. Castiel cleared his throat after a minute to try to get his attention, then he lightly hit the bell on the counter.

The man didn’t looked up, “What do you want?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at the man. “I saw your sign outside. You have a vacancy? I would like to rent an apartment.”

“We all want things,” the man said. “Doesn’t mean you can just have whatever you want.”

Castiel glared at the man, then glanced down at his nametag. “Mr. Crowley,” he said, his voice tense. “I would like for you to tell me the rate at which you rent out your apartments.”

Crowley finally looked up at him. His eyes were like those of a pitbull’s, about to sprint forward and sink its teeth in one’s leg. He snapped his magazine closed, threw it haphazardly on the desk before him, then leaned forward towards Castiel. “I can do $100 a month, no negotiations.”

Castiel scrunched his eyebrows together and calculated in his head the amount of money he had. It was expensive for sure, and a little overpriced for the condition of the building, but Castiel had the money and so he accepted.

Crowley grunted and got out of his chair. “We have a couple apartments available,” he shuffled around the desk and then walked down the hall to the stairs. “I’ll show you them.” Castiel wasn’t sure if Crowley was being friendly, or just wanted their interaction to go as quickly as possible.

He followed Crowley up one flight of stairs, then another, then one more he thought, then three more. They were at the top floor, and Castiel took a moment to catch his breath and set his suitcase down on the floor. Crowley searched through his pockets for his set of keys.

“Shit,” Crowley said.

“What?” Castiel said, catching his breath.

“I left my keys on my desk. Be a dear and go get them for me.”

Castiel’s mouth went agape and he stared at this short, sarcastic looking man who was certainly some kind of archnemesis of his in an alternate version of his life. Castiel almost complained but refrained from it as he remembered that he was homeless and needs a place to sleep that night.

He sucked it up and descended all the stairs he had just climbed, grabbed Crowley’s keys on the dead center of his desk, then ascended the stairs once more.

Crowley gave him a devious crooked smile, grabbed the set, then selected a key and opened up a door before him.

The apartment had seen better days. The tile on the floor was a strange dark red and the wallpaper was peeling. It was a one bedroom. The room of to the right side had a metal bed frame and Castiel was grateful he wouldn’t have to buy furniture. The kitchen was further back, across from a leather couch. Really, it had everything Castiel would need, and the best thing was a view out the massive window on the back wall. He could see Washington Square park.

“Oops. I forgot. This is actually the only apartment. And I’ll need a $200 security deposit,” Crowley said beside him, tapping his foot.

Castiel held back an annoyed groan. “I’ll take it,” he said, knowing full well he was being ripped off. But he had a strange feeling about this place, like it was instantly his home, like he had always meant to live there.

Crowley unclipped the key from the ring, set it on the knuckle of his thumb, then flipped it towards Castiel. It made a pinging noise like it was straight out of a movie, and Castiel caught it with his eyebrow raised. Crowley was a strange individual.

“Money?” Crowley said, and held out his hand.

Castiel pressed his lips together and dug into his pocket for his wallet. He flipped it open and pulled out the bills. As he handed over the money to Crowley, a woman walked by holding several bags of groceries. When she saw Crowley and Castiel, she stopped, and a huge smile spread on her face.

“Oh,” she said. “Hello!” The woman stepped closer and Castiel realized that he’s seen her before. It was the woman he met in the park a couple days ago. He felt terrible for not remembering her name in the moment. But she seemed to be in the same boat. “I met you, didn’t I? In the park.”

“Yes!” Castiel replied. “Castiel.”

Kelly scrunched up her face and shook her head. “Right I’m so sorry I forgot. Um, Kelly. I’m Kelly.” Kelly dropped her shopping bags, stepped forward and stretched out her hand to shake Castiel’s. “Are you moving in?” She asked.

“Yes,” Castiel replied, glancing at Crowley who looked incredibly bored.

“Great now you’re friends. I’m going back downstairs,” Crowley said, then retreated to the stairwell.

“Pro tip,” Kelly leaned in and said to Castiel once Crowley was completely out of earshot. “He’s an asshole, and he likes negotiating even if it doesn’t seem like he does. I bargain with him over my rent almost every month.”

Castiel laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“This is crazy running into you again,” Kelly said, propping her hands on her hips.

Castiel shrugged and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Small city.”

“Hardly.”

The floor creaked down the hall and both Kelly and Castiel turned to see a woman standing there with most of her body in an apartment and one foot sticking out into the hall. “That you?” she said. She then stepped out fully and held the door open behind her. She was a black woman, probably middle aged, with red lipstick that made her look disproportionately glitzy for the apartment she was in. As if on cue, three kids came running out of the apartment past her and down the hall to greet Kelly. Castiel recognized Kelly’s twin sons and another girl their age who he did not know. They were yelling and laughing and one of the boys had something that looked like purple paint on his face.

“They were little devils,” the woman said as she walked towards Kelly with her hands on her hips. She had a fond smile on her face despite the comment.

“Really?” Kelly said, then looked down at her boys. She bent down and held the face of the twin with purple on his face. “I was gone, what, thirty minutes and you somehow got paint all over your face?”

“Sorry mama,” the boy said. Castiel couldn’t tell which was which of the twins. But, the two boys were holding hands, and one was looking down at the floor.

“Thank you for picking them up from school, Missouri,” Kelly said. “You are a lifesaver.”

“No problem. You know I love the boys. And, who is this?” Missouri asked and pointed at Castiel as if he was completely forgotten.

“Oh,” Kelly said. “This is Castiel Novak. He just rented out this apartment. Castiel, this is Missouri, you know my boys, and this is Missouri’s granddaughter, Patience.”

Castiel nodded as an acceptance of the pleasantries. He looked up at Missouri, who, for a quick second, had a strange flare in her eye. Castiel barely saw it, but it sent a shiver down his back. Before he could say anything, Missouri whisked away the sour expression, pouted and said, “Good luck in that apartment. I swear, it’s haunted or something. I always get a weird feeling when I walk by it and every person who’s tried to move in leaves within a couple of weeks.”

“Now, Missouri, don’t scare him. We can’t have the hall to ourselves forever,” Kelly said, then turned to Castiel. “Missouri thinks she’s psychic.”

“I most certainly am,” she said.

Castiel smiled and shook his head, feeling strangely confident about the circumstances of the apartment, despite Missouri’s ominous warning. “I’ll have to see how the next couple of weeks go, then.”

Missouri gave him a look that was sizing him up, then nodded as if approving of him.

“Well, we’ll leave you be,” Kelly said and picked up her groceries again. “But, oh! You should come to dinner tonight! My apartment is right next door. I’m thinking of making spaghetti and Missouri is bringing over homemade bread. We’d be so happy to have you.”

The warm welcome was seizing up in Castiel’s chest, and he suddenly felt extremely grateful for what this city has given him, and what seems like destiny that he’s found himself here. He nodded and said, “I would love to. Thank you very much.”

With that, Kelly herded her twin boys into her apartment, and Patience and Missouri went back into theirs.

Castiel took a deep breath and entered his new apartment, then closed the door behind himself. He’d need a mattress, he noted, a rug for the living room as well, and some curtains. Other than that, he was happy.

After a couple hours of unpacking and rearranging furniture in a way he liked, Castiel wandered down the hall to Kelly’s apartment. He felt rather pathetic and unfriendly, arriving with nothing, but Kelly knew he had just moved in. She opened the door and greeted him with the warmest of smiles, then invited him in. Castiel felt like he was visiting an old friend. Missouri and Patience were already over, and the three kids were sitting on the couch in the living room, listening to Missouri as she read from Charlotte’s Web. Castiel sunk down into a chair near the couch and listened too.

As promised, Kelly made spaghetti, and once it was done, she called for the five of them to come to the kitchen and sit down at the table. Kelly said grace, and they dug into their meals.

Kelly shared a funny story of something that happened to her at the grocery store. Castiel learned that the twin with the purple streak of paint of his face earlier was Jack. Jack enthusiastically explained a drawing he’s been working on, and Patience shared proudly how quickly she’d been learning to read.

After dinner, Missouri resumed reading- now with a glass of red wine swirling in her hand- while Jack and Patience watched Missouri with wonder. Bel was clearly listening but facing the floor. Kelly came up beside Castiel and handed him a glass of red wine. Castiel accepted it gratefully, seeing that Kelly had a glass in her own hand. After a minute or so, Kelly followed his eyes and saw Castiel looking at Bel. “Oh, I should say,” she said. “Bel is blind. He was born that way.”

Castiel looked at her and nodded, then looked back at the kids. “He seems like a good kid. They all do.”

“We got lucky,” Kelly said. Castiel took and sip and Kelly mirrored him.

“Thank you so much for dinner,” Castiel said. “I truly do appreciate it. I’ll have to return the favor sometime.”

“That would be lovely,” Kelly said. “As long as you don’t mind my boys making a ruckus in your apartment.”

“I like them. I wouldn’t mind.” Castiel did like them. Jack had this light in his eyes that brightened every time he talked about something he liked, and Bel was all smiles. Bel was mostly shy, but when he did speak, he spoke with a sass that Castiel found hilarious.

After eating some ice cream, the kids started getting sleepy and Missouri and Patience said their goodbyes. “It was nice to meet you, sir,” Patience said with droopy eyes and Castiel shook her little hand. 

Castiel helped to clean the kitchen while Kelly was tucking the twins into bed. When she came back out, she finished her glass of wine, then helped Castiel cleaned dishes. Strangely, they didn’t talk. Castiel felt comfortable around her, as if he’s known her for years.

Once they were finished cleaning, Kelly led him to the door. “Goodnight,” she said with a yawn. Castiel said goodnight as well, then headed back to his empty apartment, where he’d have to sleep on the couch.

He wondered what Dean was doing. He was probably in bed with Lisa or drunk at Swayze’s. For a moment though, he tried to imagine that Dean was tucked away safe and warm in his apartment. That him and Sam were watching a movie and throwing popcorn at each other. Castiel’s last thought before drifting to sleep was that he couldn’t wait to wake up and go to Campbells. Despite all the awkwardness between them, he wanted to tell Dean all about his new apartment, and his new friends.

**Moonlight**

At exactly 3:05 am, Castiel woke up feeling as if he was being crushed. He could barely breath, and when he opened his mouth, what came out was desperate gasps with no release. He clutched his chest and felt his heart slamming in a quick rhythm that made him dizzy and scared.

Something was wrong.

Something was wrong with his brother.

It is said that twins are so connected with one another that it is as if a string was always tied to their pinkies, keeping them together even if they’re apart.

When Castiel and Jimmy were five or six, their favorite past-time was to go to Central Park, tie aluminum cans to the ends of a long string, then walk in opposite directions from each other, sit down in the grass and mumble incoherent noises into their cans.

Castiel used to love the way his brother’s voice sounded in the can, the vibrating metallic sounds that rung out and stung his ear. He’d glance over and see his brother screaming into the can, trying to get a laugh out of him.

Sometimes, while on errands with Naomi, they’d take the cans with them. One day, when boarding the subway, Jimmy accidentally let go of his mother’s hand, got stuck within a large crowd, and didn’t get in the car in time. Castiel’s string went taut as it got stuck between the doors of the subway, and he realized his brother wasn’t next to him.

The subway whizzed away and Naomi and Castiel went into a panic. Jimmy was stranded in the subway station, and he was so young anything could happen to him. He remembered the empty feeling he felt when the subway cars opened and Castiel looked down between the car and the platform to see the other aluminum can dangling battered and scratched. Him and his mother had to rush onto the subway going back downtown and retrieve his brother. They found him, sitting on the step in the terminal he was left in, and looking incredibly stoic. Castiel drew him into a hug, remembering how sick he felt being unexpectedly ripped from his brother’s presence.

It was that same feeling, but lightyears worse.

Something was wrong.

Castiel got up off the couch and rushed to the phone that was set on the wall in the kitchen. He hadn’t even checked if it worked, but he prayed it did. For the first time in a long time, he realized, he was praying. Prayers were leaking off of him in indecipherable mumbles. He scrambled to get the phone to his ear then dialed in the directory. Fifth ave. and 100th he said frantically into the phone. Mount- something. There’s a hospital there. He was transferred to the hospital. He had no idea how he knew his brother was there, but he knew.

The woman at the reception desk had a soft, kind voice that felt serene. She told him that Jimmy and Amelia had passed away after sustaining fatal injuries in a car crash twenty minutes ago. They came to the hospital to be transferred to the morgue.

Castiel hung up the phone and crumbled to the floor.

-

He must have fallen asleep on the kitchen floor because he woke up with his cheek pressed to the cold tile, and an excruciating migraine. For a moment, he thought of the sun, and how far he felt from it, how far he felt from that afternoon with Dean in the field, how fake it all seemed now. He didn’t move, and he had no idea how long he’d stayed on the floor, starring out into his apartment, feeling like half of his body was missing. It was like a phantom limb. He searched and searched, but no music played in his head.

-

The sun was shining too bright into the apartment. He was lying on his back now in the kitchen, his headache dissipating slightly after being awake for some time. Before long, the sun had turned a rich orange, then faded into red, then black. He fell asleep again.

-

He had to get up. But his chest felt like it had a metal stake driven through it. It took great effort, but he sat up and leaned against the refrigerator.

He had to tell somebody. He had to go home.

-

Castiel’s ride on the subway felt like a dissociative dream. He missed his stop three times. He had to circle back a couple blocks. When he got back on the subway, he missed the stop again. It must have taken him hours to get to the upper west side, but he felt disconnected from the world, and hadn’t checked the time in over a day.

His parent’s apartment now stood tall and mean on the street he grew up in. He felt like a kid again, coming home from school by himself if Jimmy was out sick.

Everything felt wrong, and every breath he took felt like stolen time. The guilt shred through him. He took the stairs up to his parent’s apartment, knowing that this was the last place he wanted to be, but not knowing what else to do.

When he knocked on the door, his brother Michael answered. Michael looked tired and frustrated, like he’d be arguing with someone for hours. He greeted Castiel with a nod and guided him into the room.

Both of his parents were there, so were Luke and his wife and kids, and Michael’s wife and kids as well. Castiel thought for a second how weird it was that Jimmy and Amelia hadn’t come to the reunion. They’re never late.

There was also a young girl with curly blonde hair sitting in the center of the couch in the living room. She stared out before her, at some indecipherable small spot in the room. Claire.

Castiel almost asked where Jimmy was.

He figured he’d find out soon.

When he entered the living room, everyone went silent and looked at him as if they were seeing a ghost. After a minute or so, Naomi came over and wrapped him in a hug. Castiel felt nothing.

“I’m hungry,” he said, and had no idea why he said it. Everyone stared at him in nervous shock as he wandered out of the room and to the kitchen. Castiel pulled open the refrigerator and just stared into it, not knowing where he was or what he was doing.

“Honey?” Naomi said in a soft voice as she entered the kitchen. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Castiel said casually. “Why?”

“We’re all here to discuss arrangements.”

“Oh,” Castiel said.

“Your brother Gabriel is coming in on a flight tomorrow morning. We may have the funeral next week.”

“Okay,” Castiel said.

“And we have to figure out what to do with Claire.”

_Why? What’s wrong?_

-

Castiel slept in his old bedroom. He realized, after hours had passed, that he had been wearing the shirt Dean gave him. He must have slipped it on before he left his apartment.

Around five in the morning, he woke up as if on a timer, and he heard the front door creak open, then shut. If there was an intruder, Castiel thought, this would be the best time to kill him. He was weak and tired and hungry.

Castiel thought he’d get the murder over with, so he rubbed his eyes and walked out into the hall, only to be met with Gabriel. His brother had a suitcase in his hands, a black hat on his head, and he was trying to walk quietly to his old bedroom when he caught Castiel’s eyes.

“Little bro,” he whispered, then dropped his suitcase and folded Castiel into a hug that Castiel did not respond to. “I’m sorry about everything.”

“It’s okay,” Castiel whispered back.

“Did you miss me?”

Castiel nodded against Gabriel’s shoulder. He hadn’t seen his brother in nine years, and he was lying. He did not miss Gabriel. He resented him.

“Go back to sleep,” Gabriel said. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

Castiel nodded and retreated back to his bed.

-

Gabriel was lively despite the grim circumstances, and he chatted with Michael and Luke as if not a day had gone by. As if he didn’t run away nearly a decade ago and only called about once or twice a year.

Naomi made pancakes, and she had a bizarre mood that morning as if this was a family reunion. Chuck was business-like, as if fate brought him something on a plate, and he accepted it as it was, detached from any emotion. The kids were playing in the living room, stacking Legos and toppling them down. They were laughing, as if this was a playdate. Claire sat on a chair in the corner, threading a lock of her hair through her fingers, and staring at the carpet.

Castiel sat there, feeling unbalanced, like his body was cut down the middle and yet he still had to stay upright. He stood up abruptly, causing the kitchen to go silent, and then went to his room.

He passed out again.

-

Around dinner time, Gabriel popped into Castiel’s room and sat down next to him on the bed. He used to do this when Castiel was little and had nightmares. He’d hold out his hand and say p _ull my finger_ then tell some kind of dumb joke to make him laugh.

“Pull my finger,” he said.

Castiel groaned into his pillow. “No.”

“Ah, come on Cassie.”

Castiel just wrapped himself tighter in his blanket.

“You gotta get up,” Gabriel said, and he placed his hand on Castiel’s arm. Castiel didn’t move. “You gotta be strong.”

“No, I don’t,” Castiel muttered.

“What?”

Castiel sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He wasn’t sure why he was so tired. Whenever he was awake, all of his energy drained like he was a boat on the sea with a hole in the floor. He glanced at Gabriel and saw a blank face, one that could have been concern if his brother was slightly better at being sympathetic. Castiel suddenly got angry, and he stared his brother down. “I’ve always been strong. I don’t want to be strong anymore. I’ve held this family together, okay, and don’t try to deny that. And, I know I’m being selfish. I know I shouldn’t complain. But I can’t handle it anymore. Nobody was ever there for mom when she went to each of us, asking for help and all of you said no until she got to me and I had to accept. I had to work to pay for her doctors, I had to give her my money when she’d want to buy things behind Chuck’s back, and so many days I bought food when Chuck wasn’t here and- and -Chuck? Jesus fucking Christ. He put so much weight on me and he didn’t even know it- he didn’t even care. I kept us all afloat. You’ve been gone for nine fucking years. My twin- me- Jimmy is me. He’s me. I’m him. We always said he was just me but better. He’s gone. He died. And I don’t know who I am without him. I’m sorry death means nothing in this family, and maybe I’m not a part of it because it means something to me. So, don’t tell me to be fucking strong.”

His voice came out like venom, and he felt no tears.

Gabriel looked at him soberly for a long moment, then pursed his lips. “Okay,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Castiel just blinked at him and wanted to tell him to leave so he could go back to sleep. But, Gabriel kept watching him. “There’s something you should know though,” Gabriel said. “Well, I think you already know it.”

“What?” Castiel said, his voice coming out hoarse.

“Someone has to take care of Claire,” Gabriel said, and he glanced away from Castiel.

Castiel remembered. When Claire was born eight years ago, after Amelia’s healthy and happy pregnancy at only the age of sixteen, Castiel was the third to hold her. Jimmy was a religious man, apparently not religious enough to “wait till marriage”, but Castiel ignored the contradiction.

Jimmy always wanted to rope Castiel into his world. He urged Castiel to come to church with him, he gifted him matching cross necklaces when they turned eighteen, he told him he prayed for him every day. He made Castiel Claire’s godfather even before she was born. On the night she was born, they waited in the hospital room and Jimmy told him that he also wanted him to be her guardian if anything would happen to him and his wife. Castiel thought his brother would live forever. 

“You have to do it, Castiel. You are her guardian,” Gabriel said.

Castiel thought of Claire. She had these vibrant blue eyes that weren’t quite the same as Jimmy’s but rather like his own, at least that is what the whole family used to say. She had the same blue in her eyes that Castiel had. Like Jimmy’s eye color but electrified. Sometimes, Claire scared him, and that’s why he felt so nervous around her. But, really, it was that Castiel always thought Claire was too good. She was too good, and pure, and strong.

On the one hand, he felt his heart begin to inflate. This was Jimmy’s wish, and it would be an honor to protect and care for Claire. To watch her grow up into an incredible person. He felt as if it was his holy mission.

On the other hand, it was the last twist of the knife. All his life he had been taking care of others. He has been abandoned and left to carry burdens. Here was another, in the form of a real-life person. She was a cross to bear, and with her, his life would never be the same.

He couldn’t be a father. He could barely take care of himself.

Gabriel left the room and left Castiel in silence. For the first time in a couple of days, he couldn’t sleep. He just rested against the headboard.

-

Castiel stayed in his childhood bedroom until the day of the funeral. He finally took off Dean’s shirt and placed it back in his suitcase to wash later. He pulled out a black tie from his closet. The tie was most likely Jimmy’s. Then he fished out an old black suit that he wore to his West Point interview.

It was too sunny outside; the sun had no business here. Neither did the reminder the sun brought him. He couldn’t think of Dean now, he didn’t deserve it.

They got on a train headed to Queens where Amelia’s parents lived. There they were, sixteen people in total- 8 adults, 8 kids - and Castiel hated the small cloud of dark they made. They were like a storm cloud, sitting in a group on the train, and people stared at them the whole time. Claire held Castiel’s hand, and it was the only thing that tied him to reality.

He still couldn’t hear music.

When Jimmy and Amelia were lowered into the ground, Castiel’s mind went entirely quiet.

-

A week past. Gabriel was trying to be as nice as possible. He wanted to make it up to Castiel by buying him things. Everyone in his life had tried to win Castiel’s better mood by economic means. He stuck around, helped Castiel buy furniture for his apartment, and helped him move his mattress into the living room. What could have been Castiel’s bedroom was now going to be Claire’s bedroom. When Gabriel saw his apartment at first, he scrunched up his face and almost gagged. “I know you’re used to fancy things,” Castiel said. “But this is the heart of the city.”

Gabriel was living in La La Land.

Moments after Gabriel closed the door of Castiel’s apartment, under the vice that he’d stay in the city for a couple more days to smooth the grief, the apartment became incredibly cold. Claire sat in her room, the door was open, and she was just sitting on the bed and looking out the little window near the ceiling.

“Sorry the lighting is a bit weird in this apartment,” Castiel said. “Honestly, I didn’t expect anyone would be living with me.” Wrong. Wrong. She didn’t choose this. This is not fun. She’s not your roommate. Her parents died. Castiel had no idea how to talk to an eight-year old. “Are you hungry?” Food was a start.

He knew kids liked spaghetti. He learned that from Kelly and the way the three kids down the hall inhaled their food and smiled happily.

He thought about what Dean had said to Jody. The thought of Dean made him ache, and he realized how much he missed him, but he pushed the thought down. He remembered that Dean said to inquire about a child’s interests.

Castiel knew nothing about Claire.

So, he said nothing.

**Flight of the Bumblebee**

Claire was screaming. And throwing things. And Castiel had no idea what to do. Another week had passed since she moved in. She hasn’t been going to school and she’s been getting incredibly antsy. They had tried to make burgers for lunch, and Castiel thought that it could be a fun bonding activity. But, most of the burger meat fell onto the ground, and now Claire was screaming and running around and speaking incoherently.

Castiel just backed up into the corner of the kitchen and watched the disaster unfold. Then, there was a knock at the door. Claire quieted for a second, then ramped up again and jumped on the couch.

Castiel opened the door and was met with a very concerned looking Kelly. She had her hand still raised to knock on the door. She gave him an incriminating look and Castiel suddenly realized, “Oh…oh, shit, this is not what this look like.”

Just then, perfect timing, Claire screamed out. “You’re not my dad!” Castiel winced.

“Castiel,” Kelly said sternly. “What the hell is going on?”

“Kelly, I can explain,” he said, holding up his hands.

“Do I need to call the police?”

“What? No! No,” Castiel said frantically, then calmed himself. “No. Kelly I…This is Claire, she’s my niece. Her father- my brother,” Castiel’s voice broke, he forced himself to swallow. “Um, he passed away…two weeks ago. She has to live with me now. It’s all very- um- well, new. I suppose.”

Kelly eyes widened and her lips parted. She looked between Castiel and the child behind him, who was now standing in the middle of the room, holding her fists at her sides.

“I- “Kelly started. “I don’t…”

“This seems rather strange, I know. And, oh f- _man_ ,” Castiel said, trying not to swear. “The noise. I’m so sorry. I’ve just been overwhelmed and she’s not- she hasn’t been like this before. I’ll try to calm her down. I’m sorry.”

Kelly was still sizing him up and evaluating the situation. “Do you need help?” she finally said, seeing the waves of stress coming off of Castiel.

Castiel looked at her with wonder. “No. Kelly, I couldn’t ask you to-”

“Castiel,” she said. “Not to be frank, but there is clearly an issue here and you clearly are not being a proper parent and honestly you look like you don’t know at all what you’re doing. Let me help.”

The request was clearly not out of kindness, but rather worry. Kelly was giving him such an intense stare down that Castiel was weary to meet her eyes. He dropped his head and let her into the apartment.

Kelly got to work.

Castiel didn’t have a television, but Kelly seemed to be a veteran in knowing how to distract kids by any means. She sat down on the couch and watched Claire, who stood hesitantly in the middle of the room. Kelly asked, “Do you want to play twenty questions with me?”

“What’s that?” Claire asked, curiously.

“It’s a game where I ask you questions, then, you can ask me questions in a second round.”

Claire swayed on her feet. “My dad told me to never talk to strangers.”

Kelly smiled. “That’s very good advice. You shouldn’t. But, I’m not a stranger. I’m your new neighbor. My name is Kelly Kline.” Kelly held out her hand for Claire to shake.

After a moment, Claire went over and shook Kelly’s hand. Her tiny hand only spanned over half of Kelly’s palm. “I’m Claire Novak.”

“That was very polite of you,” Kelly praised. Castiel stood by the refrigerator, and leaned up against it, feeling his stomach swirl with nerves. Claire could outburst any second. “Now, question number one. Why are you screaming?”

Castiel would have laughed at the question if he didn’t want Claire to answer so badly. Claire bit her lip as she thought, then said, “I’m bored. And lonely. I want to go home.”

Kelly looked up at Castiel and Castiel shrugged at her. Then, with a nod of her head, she urged Castiel towards them. He hesitated, but then walked forward and sat down on the edge of his bed, across from the couch.

Castiel cleared he throat. “Claire,” he began. “This is your home now. I’m sorry you can’t go back to your house uptown, okay? Our family can’t keep it and I can’t afford it, so you have to stay here.” It was harsh. He knew it was harsh.

Claire frowned deeply and looked back at Kelly. “Why can’t I live there by myself? I can sell stamps or cigarettes.” Claire asked no one in particular, probably just herself. Castiel’s heart ached, he had always known she was quite mature for her age. Claire knew, despite it all, that she couldn’t undo the past, and she couldn’t go back home.

Kelly’s face softened. “That’s very smart of you. Do you know how to pay taxes?”

Claire shook her head but said. “I can figure it out.”

“I’m sorry Claire,” Castiel muttered. Claire swiveled around to face him again. “I know it’s hard, and I know this apartment is barely suitable. But…” _What does he even say? No one else can take care of you? My mother can’t because she’ll fall into psychosis? My father can’t because he’s never home? My siblings can’t cause they all have their hands full of kids who would surely skin her alive?_

“I miss my friend,” Claire said after a long pause. Castiel ran a hand down his face. “I haven’t talked to Kaia in over two weeks and she’s probably worried. I miss her.”

Kelly and Castiel exchanged weighted glances. Then, Kelly shrugged minutely. Castiel cleared his throat. “She can come over whenever she wants,” he said.

“But she won’t like this dump!” Claire called out.

“If she’s a real friend, who really cares about you, then she won’t care,” Kelly said, taking both of Claire’s tiny wrists in her hands and looking her in the eyes.

“I want her to like me.”

“I’m sure she adores you.”

Castiel’s heart was aching in his chest at the sight of this woman who barely knew him helping him so eagerly. Claire eventually accepted and Castiel agreed to allow a playdate on Friday after Kaia gets out of school.

Then, Castiel realized, next week Claire would have to go back to school. She had only been given two and a half weeks off for the deaths, and frankly, Castiel thought that was criminal.

Kelly looked at Castiel and seemed to judge him. She rose her eyebrow. “When is the last time you’ve been out of this house?”

“Oh…um,” Castiel said. He felt so bone-deep tired.

“Go,” Kelly said. “Go do what you need to do. I know how hard it can be to have a kid in tow. Just…go okay? I consider us friends, and you’ll return the favor. My boys are at school and they’ll be back later, okay? Claire can stay with me for a little bit.”

Castiel thought of Dean. His…friend, he figured. Yes. They were friends. Dean was a friend that Castiel wanted very much to kiss and touch and have all to himself. He knew, deep down, that he shouldn’t depend on Dean for happiness, but he ignored the thought, and wanted to flee to him like he was a refuge from a storm.

“I’ll be back as soon as possible. I just need to…” he didn’t know how to explain.

Kelly waved him off, “Go.”

**-**

Campbell’s was across the village, and he’d have to cross through the park. It was a lively day. There were musicians in the streets, the sun was shining, and the ground was wet and hot from yesterday’s rain being sunbaked. There was a protest going on over Robert Moses and the new city planning deal to tear down the fountain and make a highway through the park. A crowd of people were surrounding the arch. Castiel passed through a moment, but he trickled through the crowd. He had a destination in mind, and he couldn’t stop for any distractions. If he did, he may change his mind and betray himself.

The world became a live wire. The sun exploded into color and it rippled through the people on the streets. Vibrant colors tore through the buildings, it flowed within the clouds, it danced in the air. He could imagine them so clearly. After each step he took closer to the bar, the world would drop off and disappear behind him and the only thing that existed was him and this road and however far ahead of him he could see.

The feeling inside of him, the guilt, the strange sinister absence of a loved one gone too soon, festered, and Castiel felt alone. Incredible so. But it was a warm loneliness that he was getting used to and perhaps he’s had in his chest for a long time.

He was happy that he was thinking with such a clarity of mind for the first time in weeks. He was staring down the barrel of the gun but otherwise focusing on the way the clouds in the sky striped across the blue like they were drawn there by one dash of a pencil.

A song was playing in his head, and he greeted it with open arms. It was a slow song, a song one would listen to while strolling through a library, looking for colorful titles, and ignoring the passing of time.

He reached the bar, and then stopped in his tracks. Stones built up in his throat. Dean hated him. He must. He went dark, he disappeared, he hadn’t been in touch. Dean probably forgot who he was.

He wanted to be selfish. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

The place looked about the same, and there were several people sitting in chairs around the room, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. No one occupied the piano on the platform, sitting lonely and unloved, with its lid closed and the spotlights off of it. Castiel looked around the room. No one was manning the bar, but then he saw Dean sitting in a booth off to the right, focusing on a mess of papers on the table.

Castiel walked towards him, feeling like the conviction he had was not exactly genuine, and that he was faking it, but this faking it would get him far.

Dean’s hair was messy like he had been combing his finger through it. It had grease in it like he was some kind of rebel, and he wore his brown leather jacket with the collar up. He had a cigarette stuck half-forgotten between his lips, and in the dim yellow light of the bar, Castiel could still see his freckles, and the shadow his eyelashes made on his cheek.

Dean didn’t look up. “There’s coffee on the hot plate, get it yourself and pay later,” he mumbled with half of his attention, then took a delayed breath from his cigarette. He reached up, pulled the bud away, then breathed out a stream of smoke.

Castiel stood still and just watched him, not knowing what to say.

Dean eventually looked up and the surprise in his face was something Castiel wouldn’t soon forget. It was happiness, at first, Castiel could tell, but then his face twisted and dropped into somewhat of a scowl.

Dean crushed his cigarette into an ash tray next to him on the table, among the papers strewn about. Dean looked away and watched the amber light in the ashtray go out.

Dean cleared his throat, then looked back up at Castiel. “It’s funny seeing you come around here. I thought you were avoiding it like the plague.” He said this with so much venom in his voice that Castiel instantly felt regret for even coming, for even trying to forge himself back into Dean’s life.

He composed himself and took a breath. “I- I’m sorry. I…” he had no idea what to say.

Dean stood and shimmied out from the booth. He stood in front of Castiel then, a couple inches taller, smelling like cologne, leather, and saturated cigarette smoke. His eyes traced over Castiel’s face, but when Castiel met his eyes, they turned cold and distant. Angry.

“Follow me,” Dean said.

Castiel didn’t have time to question him. Dean spun around and headed towards the back door of the bar. Garth was sitting on a table in the back, eating a snack and reading a book, and when Dean passed, he nodded to him to take over the bar for a moment. Dean pushed through the back door with two hands, his shoulder’s rippling, and then lead Castiel out into an alley way behind the bar.

Dean took a second and, without turning around to face Castiel, pulled out a new cigarette from his trousers and light it up. Castiel saw the puff of smoke then, “You fucking disappeared.”

This was not how Castiel wanted this to go. This was a mistake. The friendship was spent; he should never have come. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

Dean swung around then and pointed at Castiel with the two fingers that held the cigarette, smoke trailing in the air like a gun that fired. Dean’s eyes were daggers. “What the hell, huh?” Dean sucked in a breath of smoke; let it out. “Look, I know you probably don’t want to talk about this, and you’re probably some kind of bible thumper purist or some shit, and I know what I did- or what I was going to do- was wrong. But do I really deserve for you to ignore me for- what? - three fucking weeks or something? I’m not queer or whatever, Jesus Christ, it was just a mistake.”

Hearing Dean frantically speak to him in such a way made Castiel’s heart twist like he was being stabbed through his chest. He wanted to move closer to Dean, touch his cheek, kiss him, anything. He wanted to tell Dean that what he did felt so fucking right and that’s why Castiel was so afraid, and that’s why he pulled away. Because he didn’t deserve it.

But the spell was broken. Everything was wrong. Him and Dean used to be on the same track, and they were moving together. Now, it was like Dean was stuck on a train across the city, and Castiel was stuck on an airplane.

Jimmy was dead. Castiel was alone. His carbon-copy of a person wasn’t out there, working as an example of how someone like them could find happiness in the life they’ve been born into. No. He was gone. Now, Castiel had to craft his own life. His shadow was missing, or rather, he was the shadow without the body.

Dean watched him with frustration, his nostrils flared, his cigarette now burning up on its own by his side. Eventually, Dean dropped his gaze, and seemed to shrink into himself. He looked at his shoes and kicked at a pebble on the ground.

Castiel was so overwhelmed with everything he needed to say, that he didn’t say anything at all.

“Tell me there’s something else,” Dean said almost in a whisper. “Tell me there’s something else- anything. Give me another reason for why you disappeared. I don’t know if I can take it that you’ve just been avoiding me for… _that_ reason when I’m not even queer. And you even left a note- a fucking note- and you still didn’t show up. I was worried okay? I can admit that. Jesus- can you fucking say something? What’s the point in this if you’re just gonna make me look like an asshole?” Dean took a breath from his cigarette with a shaking hand.

Finally, Castiel found the will to speak, “My…” he couldn’t say it. “Dean, it’s not- how can I fix this?”

“Just fucking talk.”

Castiel took in a shaky breath and looked into Dean’s eyes for a moment to gather himself. “It’s not that. It’s not…what you think it is. I- I’m not mad.” He paused. Deep breath. “Dean, my brother died.”

Time stopped. It was like all the color in the world was instantly washed away by a high tide. Dean’s face dropped, and Castiel, despite his better judgement, began to cry.

It was one tear at first, or maybe two, just forming slowly and strongly at his waterline. His tears rolled down his cheeks, then he choked. “Fuck,” he said. “I’m sorry. I can’t- I shouldn’t tell you this. I shouldn’t put this on you.”

Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around his shoulders, and a hand laced through his hair on the back of his head. Castiel collapsed into Dean, and he wrapped his arms tightly around his waist. He moved his hands up, and cupped Dean’s shoulder blades. 

It all came barreling out, and he couldn’t stop it. He sobbed into Dean’s shoulder like he’s never done before. He can’t remember the last time he’s cried. 

He started having strange flashbacks, things he thought he’d forgotten about. Jimmy getting separated from him in the subway, the time when Jimmy gave him a drawing of a cat on their first day of second grade, the time when Jimmy broke his arm while sledding and Castiel almost felt like he broke his arm too just watching his brother in pain.

There were even memories that weren’t associated with his brother at all. He thought of one time when he was 13, when he walked into the kitchen and saw Naomi had slit her wrist with a paring knife. She was sitting on the floor with blood on her dress and the knife still loosely in her hand. There was so much blood, and Castiel had to wrap her arm in a towel while they waited for the ambulance. His mother was singing this strange song, asking for death to spare her. _Oh death. Oh death._

It was one of the strangest moments of Castiel’s life. And the weirdest part was that Jimmy wasn’t there. He was out in the country for a weekend with Amelia and her family. That was Castiel’s memory and his alone. When he thought of Jimmy, he thought of everything they shared, but their lives were vastly different. He didn’t want them to be different. It made him feel stranded at sea.

“I shouldn’t- I’m sorry,” he kept rambling on, only realizing now that he has been muttering the same words over and over.

Dean just shushed him and held him steady.

Men don’t cry like this.

“It’s okay,” Dean said again.

“No,” Castiel said between sobs. He managed to breath and calm down a bit. “No, it’s not. I can’t just unload this on you. I barely know you.”

“You know me,” Dean said calmly, running his hand through his hair again.

“But you don’t know me, and you wouldn’t want to.”

“I want to.”

“No.”

Dean drew back and held Castiel’s face in his hands. Castiel instantly felt incredibly open, like he was naked in front of him, or that all his guts were out on display. “Cas, I just have to say- when I said I wanted there to be another reason why you disappeared, I didn’t mean- just- “

“I understand,” Castiel said. He knew his face was red, and there were tears streaming down his face still, and snot coming from his nose. He was sure he looked absolutely disgusting, but Dean held him close again. Castiel pressed his face into his shoulder, no doubt leaving traces of tears on the leather.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean said. “I’m so sorry.”

Castiel kept shaking his head, and Dean thread his fingers through his hair again. “It’s all too much,” Castiel said in a low, broken voice.

“Don’t say that.”

Castiel pulled away, but Dean stayed close to him with one hand on his shoulder. Castiel wiped his tears, feeling pathetic. “There’s more,” he said.

“What is it?” Dean asked.

Castiel looked away, down the alley way, where he saw people going about their day in the sunshine out on the street. “I have a kid.”

“What?”

He didn’t know how to tell people this. He should have practiced.

“My niece, Claire. I’m her guardian now,” He wanted it to sound grand, like he was on his holy mission, like he was helping a great cause. But the words came out with self-pity.

Dean was silent for a while, working out the idea in his head, coming to terms with it. Castiel was still turned to look down the alleyway, and Dean dropped his hands. They slide down his arms and rested above his elbows. After taking a breath, Castiel dared to look at him.

“Is she okay?” Dean asked. Castiel wasn’t expecting the question. In fact, no one had really inquired about Claire’s wellbeing, and he certainly wasn’t expecting his family to check in on her.

“That’s the thing,” Castiel said. “I don’t know. She barely talks to me. It’s been a disaster. I’ve barely slept because she’s barely slept, and I’ve barely eaten because she’s barely eaten. I don’t know what to do.” Castiel, although he fought it hard, began to cry again. A tear betrayed him and rolled down his cheek.

“Do you need help?” It was the second time that day that someone had asked him that question and hearing it from Dean made his chest ache even more. Tears involuntarily ran down his face once more, and he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t speak. He just nodded as a response.

Dean looked at him for a minute, and Castiel looked back with earnest. Dean probably hated the mess that Castiel had just dumped at his feet and resented the way that he showed up unannounced looking for comfort. But Dean’s eyes looked warm and sympathetic. In fact, his eyes were shining a bit from the beginnings of his own tears. In a completely raw act of defiance against whatever socially acceptable way in which men should act together, Dean reached up and wiped Castiel’s tears with his thumbs. Castiel want to collapse into a puddle.

“You’re gonna be okay.”

“It should’ve been me,” Castiel whispered and he wished he hadn’t. He wished he had tied what he said to a string, so the minute he cast it out, he could just reel it back in. Dean’s father, Castiel remembered, had said the same thing.

“No,” Dean said, but Castiel could feel the tension. But maybe it was within himself. Maybe the guilt had finally taken over, taken his body, and was now in control. _Jimmy was the better twin. Why did the better twin need to die?_

They stayed outside for a couple more minutes before Castiel told Dean he had to go back and pick up Claire from Kelly’s house. Dean and Castiel walked across the bar and Dean held the door open for him.

“How can I help?” Dean asked as Castiel stood in the doorway, his face still red by dry of tears. No one noticed.

Castiel didn’t know what to tell him. He wanted to breakdown again, but he forced himself not to.

“Dinner,” Castiel said rather randomly. “Can you come for dinner. I want to spend time with you.” All discretion was out the window.

Dean gave him the smallest smile, as if he was trying to hide any affection. Castiel didn’t want him hide. “I’d like that. I can meet Claire.”

“Friday,” Castiel murmured. Dean was standing so close, and Castiel was unabashedly looking in his eyes, throwing all self-preservation and dignity out the window.

“Cas- I just want to make sure- are you really okay?”

“Yes,” Castiel said it too quickly.

Dean nodded, looking like he did not believe it. Castiel had to ignore the way he looked sad, scared for him even. But Dean shook his head and said, “Friday.”

Castiel told him his new address, took in the sight of Dean’s face once more time for strength, then left the bar and walked back out onto the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come be nice to me (please) on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/green-eyes-and-classic-rock)


	7. Rubato

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> emotion rules over everything

“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”

-Emily Brontë

**On the Sunny Side of the Street**

His parents sold their grand piano when Castiel was 15. It was in great shape, but Chuck snapped one day and sold it off to some guy in Queens because Castiel would play it too much, and it would disturb his writing. The whole house seemed to grieve the loss because the songs Castiel played always had a way of making people sane.

Castiel went out walking with Claire on Thursday afternoon and they found a piano on the side of the road as if it were a sign from god himself.

“Piece-a-junk,” Claire said and lightly kicked the side of it.

She was right. It was in awful condition. It was practically begging for Castiel to take it home and fix it up. Claire and him both looked at it closely, and he wondered how the hell he’d even get it up into his apartment. There was no way. But the piano had to be his. He knew it. Now that Claire was with him, he’d have less time to play at Campbell’s, which hurt him in more ways than one. But, if he can’t bring Dean home, the least he can do it bring the music home.

The piano was in front of a music store. “Let’s go in,” he told Claire, and took her hand. Inside, there were a couple guys doting around, looking at guitars. A song by Billie Holiday was playing, and it was such a gorgeous song that Castiel had to stop, close his eyes and let it wash over him. There was a man at the counter, smoking a cigarette and organizing guitar picks. They walked up to him and Claire put her hands on the glass of the display case below the counter. She looked at all the smaller instruments. A flute was disassembled to show all its parts, there were harmonicas, and even some cow bells. Castiel inquired about the price of the piano.

“500,” the guy said between his cigarette. He had a strong Brooklyn accent despite being in Manhattan.

Castiel opened his wallet and counted his money. The piano was certainly an investment, and he should be more responsible now that he has a kid to take care of.

“Could you possibly go for $400?” Castiel asked.

The guy laughed and looked up at him. “500. But, I’ll include setting it up in your house. You gotta get those guys that lift shit up into windows.”

Castiel cringed when the cashier said the curse word, and glanced down quickly at Claire, who was more occupied with smudging the glass. She probably knew several curse words already though. She was mature for her age after all.

Maybe he could bond with Claire over this. He loved piano and playing it would keep his mind off of things he didn’t want to think about. He could teach her. And, with a few thrifty dinner plans, he did have the money. 

“I’ll take it,” Castiel said, and forked over the cash.

The cashier asked for his address and phone number, which Castiel had to figure out by asking Crowley repeatedly, then informed him that the piano will be ready for delivery the next day. Castiel tapped Claire on the shoulder to get her attention and they set out back onto the street.

They had just come from the doctor’s office in town, to get both him and Claire registered there, and have all of Claire’s medical records passed over. Claire insisted she still wanted to go to the same school in midtown. Not insisted, more like demanded without any negotiation, and Castiel obliged. She’s already gone through so much change; he couldn’t rip her from her school as well. He’d just have to take the train with her every morning.

Their next errand was to stop by Charlie’s and, well, apologize. Then, see if he could get his job back. 

Walking down the street holding the hand of a young girl made so many women look over and give him sweet smiles. It was attention he’d never really gotten before in such a capacity, and he didn’t quite like it.

Charlie’s store was quite busy that day, and Castiel loved to see the crowd congesting the store. It was so loud when he walked in that he couldn’t even hear if any music was playing. He looked down to see if Claire was afraid of the noise, but she looked incredibly calm. She instantly looked over at the record player playing a song low enough that they couldn’t hear it, and she placed her finger on the spinning record, feeling the grooves.

Castiel smiled at her, finding it easy to do so, and then pulled her alongside him through the store.

They found Charlie by the front counter, chatting enthusiastically with a man who was purchasing a whole stack of comic books, new and old. When Castiel came into her line of vision, her face dropped, only for a second. She perked up again and finished helping the customer.

With Claire reluctantly holding his hand, Castiel waiting for Charlie to tell her employee to take over the register, then sidled up right next to Castiel.

“What the hell?” Charlie whispered at him, right into his face. “Where the hell have you been?” It was then that she looked down and saw the tiny blonde girl Castiel had in tow. Claire was looking up at her with a scowl on her face, and Castiel had no idea how to tell her that that was no way to act during a first impression. “Oh,” Charlie said, her voice petering out.

“Charlie,” Castiel started. “I’m so sorry. I should have called or something. It’s been so crazy.”

“Did you, um, ace a paternity test?”

“Oh, shi-damn,” he tried to mask his curse word, but _damn_ wasn’t much better. “No, um, Claire is my niece. I um, I have to take care of her now. It’s- may we go somewhere else?”

He had no expectation for Charlie to give him the time of day, but for the sake of their budding friendship, he wanted to at least try.

Charlie seemed to assess the room for a second. The crowd was dwindling down minutely. Then, she nodded at Castiel and started walking towards the back of the store. Castiel looked down at Claire and nudged her along. Past the couches in the seating area was a door to a back room Castiel had never been in before. But, when Charlie opened the door and urged him inside, Castiel saw that it was all just cold concrete floors and storage boxes up to the ceiling.

Charlie turned around and crossed her arms across her chest. “Look I don’t have much time, and frankly I’m very confused so if you’re here to try to get your job back you can’t just show up and expect me to give it back to you.”

He couldn’t tell her now. Telling her now would make her feel bad.

He just stood there, his face blank, his mind blank.

“Castiel?” Charlie asked. “Cas? You okay?”

“Charlie…” he said. He glanced down at Claire, then leaned in towards Charlie and whispered to her, “Is there something to distract her for a minute?”

Charlie nodded and then turned around and looked up at a shelf full of action figures. She put her hands on her hips, searched the shelf, they reached up and selected one from the top. She turned around to face Claire, then knelt before her. “Hey, have you heard of wonder woman? I think you’d like her.” Charlie held out the action figure. It was a woman with long black hair, a cinched waist, and a red costume. Claire hesitated for a moment, then took the action figure in her two little hands and walked over to a small wooden chair in the corner of the room. Charlie watched her with a fond smile on her face.

After an instant, Charlie turned to him again, her expression tense. “What’s going on?” she whispered.

Castiel took a deep breath. “My brother died,” he said. “Yeah…it’s um. Yeah. I’m Claire’s guardian now. Her…her mother died too.”

Charlie’s mouth parted, and she seemed to stop breathing. “Oh. Oh Cas…”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Charlie said, and she surprised Castiel by taking his hands and squeezing them. “Cas. I’m so sorry.”

Castiel felt like a wilted flower under her concerned gaze. “Thank you, Charlie. I- I’ll be okay.”

Charlie gave him another deeply concerned look, then dropped his hands and looked over at Claire. “So…you’re a dad now.”

“Looks like it,” Castiel said. “I’m in over my fucking head.”

Charlie looked at him, her eyes imploring. “Have you told Dean?”

Castiel met her eyes. “Yes. Yesterday. I told him everything.”

“I don’t know what he told you…but he was worried.”

“I know,” Castiel said. “Charlie, I’m sorry. I know this is a lot.”

Charlie put a hand on his shoulder. “Castiel. Look at me. You do not need to apologize…do you still want to work here?”

“It would be a great help. Yes. If I may?”

Charlie nodded. “I’ll have to shift some things around. But of course.”

Castiel felt a small stone form in his throat. “Thank you. Claire starts school again next week. I could come every day if you need me.”

“That’d be great, Cas,” Charlie smiled. “But,” she furrowed her brows. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

Castiel swallowed, and then nodded a little too hastily. “I’ll be fine.”

Charlie just looked even more concerned.

“Alright,” Castiel said and turned around to look at Claire. “We’re gonna get going.” Claire was looking very intently at the action figure and playing with the whip she held. “Actually. I’d like to purchase that.”

“Cas,” Charlie said and smiled softly. “You can have it for free.”

“Charlie-”

“Go home Cas. I’ll see you next week, okay?”

Castiel had no other choose but to accept. He walked over to Claire and held his hand out for her to take. Claire held onto the action figure and gave Castiel a weird look when he didn’t say anything about it. When he told her it was hers to keep, she smiled with a tooth was missing. She looked like a normal kid to anyone who walked by, but her eyes were dull.

With another wave at Charlie and a big “ _thank you!”_ from Claire, they left the store and went back out onto the street.

**Berceuse in D-Flat Major**

The next day, Claire was catching up on some workbooks for school, and Castiel was trying to help her. They didn’t talk, and the apartment was awash in a thick tense silence. Then, as if a gift from god himself, the phone rang. Castiel answered to a man who sounded quite rushed and frustrated.

“You bought the, uh, Yamaha upright?” the guy with the heavy Brooklyn accent said. Castiel confirmed. “We got a couple delivery guys comin’ to your apartment now, they should be there any minute.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said, then hung up.

He looked over at Claire, who looked like a lifeless doll, reading contently. He looked at her eyes and they were lifeless.

Whenever his mother used to look like that, Castiel would crawl up onto the piano bench and play her a song.

He was hoping music could heal them both.

Ten minutes later, he told Claire to come with him to go down to the lobby and talk to the deliverymen. There was a small truck out in front of his apartment, and two guys were easing Castiel’s piano down a ramp while three other guys were getting the lever set up to haul it up to the window.

The operation was nerve-wracking, to put it lightly. Castiel and Claire had to run back up to their apartment and open their large French-style window. One man was beside them, set to pull the piano in when it was brought up. Two guys went to the roof to work the lever, and two were below on the street, ready to pull the rope.

They got the piano in okay, and Castiel, even though he knew it was included in the price of the piano already, tipped each guy because he was so grateful.

The house was quiet again, but it felt like a loud storm had ripped through it. Castiel clicked the windows closed and walked over to the piano. He put his hands on his hips and looked at it in all of its plastic-covered glory.

Claire went to go sit down on the couch, and she tried to put her feet up on Castiel’s bed, but she couldn’t reach. She watched Castiel and the piano with a vague spark of interest. It gave Castiel a thrill to know she was at least paying attention to him. She hadn’t been interested in much these days, nor talked.

Castiel tore off the plastic like the piano was a gift on Christmas morning, then he bunched it up, and stuffed it in the trashcan. He wasn’t sure where he wanted the piano to be. There was a space under the window. It would block some of the light, but it would be facing an incredible view of the park. Castiel could see himself there all day, composing songs, practicing, and just staring out at the arch.

He pushed the piano on its rusted old wheels. As the wheels squeaked, Claire yelped and smacked her hands over her ears. Castiel felt himself smile a bit, which surprised him, and then he set the piano flush against the window.

“There,” Castiel said. “It’s perfect.”

He didn’t have a piano bench, but he decided to pull up a wooden chair from the kitchen that he bought at a thrift store a couple days ago. He set it in front of the piano.

“Want me to teach you something?” he called out to Claire without turning. Speaking to her felt so out of place. One among many of the implicitly established folkways of their little household was to not speak to each other. It made things easier. They could allow the awkwardness between them to grow but not get the spotlight, and yet it was also the most painful aftermath of Jimmy and Amelia’s deaths that Castiel could possibly think of. He broke all the rules and looked over at Claire. She was listening intently. “I was around your age when I first started learning how to play piano. Do you want to try?”

After a moment, Claire slid off the couch in a theatric way, like she was a worm, then crossed the small room to stand beside the piano. The piano dwarfed her, but she looked up at it defiantly. “Play something first,” she said with interest.

Before complying to Claire’s demand, Castiel grabbed another wooden chair from the table and set it up next to his. It was no piano bench, but it does the trick. Claire climbed up on her chair and sat on her feet so she could see high enough.

Castiel began to play the waltz. It was the same song that he played for Dean for the first time, while he was trying to impress him. He wanted to play it, rather needed to, because thinking about Dean made him feel some semblance of happiness. Above anything else, it was a gorgeous song, and Castiel simply liked it. 

When he finished, he dropped his hands to his lap, and sat quietly, letting the sound finish vibrating through the apartment.

“I can never play like that,” whispered Claire.

“What are you talking about? When I was your age, I could barely hit three notes at once.”

“I mean in the future,” Claire said again, louder.

“Why do you say that?”

Claire shrugged and pressed her lips together. “I’m just not good at things.”

Castiel didn’t know how to respond to that. He wasn’t exactly one to give advice on the self-love. But, he supposed he had to try. “We all feel that way,” Castiel said, ambiguously. “But what’s more important is doing what you like to do.”

“That’s what all my teachers say. But I don’t know what I like to do.”

“Then, what do you _want_ to do?”

“Run away.” Claire said quietly, and a strange feeling washed through Castiel. It was as if the inevitable had just been triggered, as if a train was coming into the station too quickly and won’t stop for him. He wanted to help Claire, protect her, but how could he do that if she didn’t want any of it?

There was then a knock at the door. He took one last concerned look at Claire, then got up and went to answer it.

He opened up to reveal Daphne, holding her hat in her hands. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and very green. “Castiel!”

"Daphne?” Castiel was surprised to say the least. He hadn’t seen her in weeks.

“I’m so sorry just to show up like this,” she said. “I should have called.”

“It’s okay,” Castiel said, holding the door, and not knowing what to do. “Um, come in.”

Daphne thanked him, stepped inside and awkwardly took a couple steps into the main room. She seemed so out of place, like a celebrity in a moldy old basement. She was so elite, so upper class, and here Castiel was, living the life he was always meant to have when he became independent.

“I was hoping to see you,” she said. “I- um, well I went to your parent’s apartment expecting to see you there.”

“Oh, yes. I moved,” Castiel said, rolling on her heels. Awkward tension filled the room.

“Who’s that?” Claire called from across the room. Daphne must have seen her but didn’t comment. He was sure Naomi filled her in all about his new living situation.

Daphne walked over to her and leaned down to her level on the wooden chair. She held out her hand. “I’m Daphne. A friend of Castiel’s. Your grandparents have told me a lot about you.”

Claire didn’t say anything, and she didn’t shake Daphne’s hand. She just got off her chair and walked across the room to her bedroom. “I’m gonna go play,” she said then started to close her door.

“Leave it open a couple inches please,” Castiel said calmly, and Claire obliged.

Castiel turned back to Daphne. “I’m sorry. She’s a little…well, she’s been having a hard time.”

“I can’t even imagine,” Daphne said, and looked at the ground.

Castiel didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to tell her that he didn’t want to talk about his brother. He didn’t know if that was rude of him. He opted, instead, to change the subject entirely. “How are my parents? I haven’t seen them, well, since…”

“They’re okay…” Daphne said. She paused and sat down on the edge of Castiel’s bed. “They’re not okay, actually. Your mother isn’t doing well.”

“Oh.” Castiel had been expecting that.

“Yeah,” Daphne said. “And your brother, Gabriel, has decided to stay even longer to help her. I have been spending some time with her, talking to her, just keeping her mind off of things.”

Castiel furrowed his brow. Gabriel was meant to return to California last week.

“I just thought you ought to know,” Daphne said, then she held up her hand. “But I mostly came by to check on you. Gabriel gave me your address. So, how are you?”

Castiel didn’t meet her eye, and he answered quickly. “I’m doing well.”

Nobody seemed to believe him when he said it, and he clearly didn’t believe it himself. If he was being honest, he had no idea how he felt.

“Okay,” Daphne said. “That’s good, then.” She sounded completely unconvinced.

A thick silence settled between them. Castiel felt guilty.

“Daphne,” he began. “I really do appreciate you caring for me.”

“It’s nothing,” Daphne said, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

“I- I don’t know how to say this…”

“I don’t want to be with you either, Castiel, if that’s what you’re gonna say,” she said in the sweetest voice. “I never really have.”

“Oh,” Castiel said, shocked.

“We’re friends, remember? And yes, our families did want us to get married. But I don’t want that.”

“It’s my fault. I’m sorry. I’m- I’m not… you know, normal.”

Daphne shook her head. “No. It’s not you. It’s me as well. I don’t want to marry anyone, Castiel. I don’t even want kids. In fact, I want to travel, be a journalist. I booked a trip to London. Can you believe that? My parents are angry, but they’ll understand someday. I’m going after my dreams. Maybe I’ll meet a man in the future but until then, I would like to be your friend.”

Castiel didn’t know what to say. He thought he had broken her heart, or at least cracked it a bit. He thought she had a crush on him. He thought his mother inflated her confidence, told her amazing things about him that were simply not true. He had underestimated her.

“I may be a woman,” she said quietly, like she was speaking to herself now. “And there may be rules for me to follow, and guidebooks telling me to be civil and proper. But rules are made to be broken. History shows that, doesn’t it? I want to be who I am, and I don’t know who that is yet, but I at least want the freedom to find out.”

Castiel felt like he had been looking at her all wrong and she had finally ripped away the silkscreen.

“And I wish you the best,” she said.

Castiel nodded and had to force himself to speak. “That’s amazing news. I’m sorry I never knew that that’s what you wanted.”

“How could you know if I was afraid to tell you,” she said and laughed. “I thought you wanted to marry me all this time.”

“Are you serious?”

“No,” she said, her cheeks pink. “I knew you didn’t.” Daphne gave him a knowing look, and suddenly everything made sense and came crashing down. She knew all along how Castiel felt about Dean, and therefore who else knew?

Right now, he wanted to tell Dean how he felt. He wanted to throw aside the isolation he’s enacted, the amount of grief allotted, the ration of time spent with Claire in their apartment. He wanted to ignore it all and go to Dean.

His attention went back to Daphne when she moved away her hand. She got up slowly from Castiel’s bed and smoothed out her dress.

“I wish you the best as well,” Castiel said. “You’re very strong for sticking up for what you want.”

Daphne smiled and shook her head softly, her waves of brown hair shuffling on her shoulders. “It’s not strength,” she said. “It’s what any man could do. And…you should go for what you want too.”

Castiel swallowed, knowing what she meant.

“I really am sorry,” Daphne said as took a step forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. “About your brother. About everything. You shouldn’t feel obligated to take care of your mother by the way. You’re all grieving just the same.”

Castiel wished her goodbye and walked her to the door.

“I’ll send you a postcard,” Daphne said, then disappeared down the stairwell.

After he closed the front door, he peaked into Claire’s room. She was asleep, cradling her wonder woman action figure in a loose fist. Castiel pushed open her door just an inch or two more, and then went to the kitchen to start making dinner.

Claire didn’t wake up until grilled cheese was sizzling loudly on the stove. She shuffled into the kitchen rubbing her eyes and plopped down onto one of the wooden chairs still left by the table.

They ate in a silence that was for once comfortable enough that Castiel felt like he could breath. After dinner, he played Chopin while Charlie sprawled out on the couch and played with her wonder woman.

**All I Have to Do Is Dream**

Claire was running around the apartment trying to straighten everything up for her playdate with Kaia. Castiel was cleaning the kitchen preparing for his…well, date with Dean. He tried not to call it that.

“She’s coming in five minutes! Where is my hairbrush?”

“Claire you haven’t brushed your hair in five days. Why do you need to now?”

“You don’t understand!” She yelled.

Castiel decided not to ask. “Check behind the sink,” he called from the kitchen, where he was cleaning the last of the dishes. “It probably fell.”

“Found it!” Claire yelled.

Come to think of it, Castiel hadn’t checked how he looked all morning, and he probably looked insane. He made his bed, which looked ridiculous in the living room but had to do. He dusted every surface. He even moped the floor. He kneeled down and took a quick peak at his reflection in the glass stove and tried to flatten down his hair.

Then, there was a knock on the door.

“I’ll get it!” Claire yelled, and despite her small stature, her feet stomping to the door vibrated the whole apartment.

After the click of the door opening, a deep voice rang out and instantly made Castiel freeze. Castiel had told Claire that they were expecting _his_ friend to dinner as well, and he could hear Claire introduce herself. “I’m Dean,” he heard in reply, and his heart jumped in his chest.

Castiel stood, took a deep breath to collect himself, then walked around the corner and approached Dean. Dean presented him with a big smile. He looked stunning. He had his leather jacket on, a white shirt underneath, and jeans. His hair was slicked back with a little bit of gel, and he had a thin smudge of shaving cream on the corner of his jaw that he must have missed. He was holding a box-shaped object in his hand.

Castiel walked up next to Claire and smoothed out a ridiculous fly away on her head absentmindedly. Claire looked up at him and pouted, crossing her arms.

“Cas,” Dean said. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Castiel said. He couldn’t take his eyes off of him.

Claire groaned. “Come in please! I still have things to do before Kaia comes!” She waved her hand at Dean, urging him to come through the door. Dean squeezed through as she was shutting it, then Claire skipped into her bedroom.

Dean stared at the space she had just occupied for a second, then turned to Castiel with the same goofy smile. “She’s awesome,” he said, with no hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“I’m glad you like her,” Castiel said. “She’s been making my life a nightmare.”

Dean shook his head and smiled at that, then held up what was in his hand. Castiel could see now, it was a portable record player. “I figured, since you moved in only a month or so ago, you wouldn’t have one of these babies. So, I brought one of mine and a bunch of records. I got Elvis, The Everly Brothers, Billie Holiday, whatever you like.”

“That sounds wonderful,” he said. They were still standing near the door. Then, Dean looked past him into his apartment and his eyes lit up. Castiel turned and realized he was looking at the old piano by the window.

Castiel couldn’t get a word in before Dean stepped past him, down the hall and then wandered up to the piano. He poked a high key with the tip of his index finger. “It’s very like you to already have a piano,” Dean said, fondness clear in his voice.

Castiel walked up beside him and looked down at his little piano that he was growing to love very quickly. “You know I had to.”

Dean shook his head, clicked his tongue and said in a mocking tone, “You’re cheating on my piano. Well, Benny’s.” He met Cas’s eyes and touched his hand to his chest as if offended.

Castiel hit him with his elbow. It was then that someone knocked on the door. Claire yelled _I’ll get it_ again and ran to open it.

Castiel peaked past Dean to see a woman in her late twenties, holding the hand of a young girl with big, puffy brown hair and a smile with a tooth missing.

Claire leapt forward and wrapped Kaia into a hug. Kaia’s mother looked like she was walking through a haunted house. She was looking around herself, making sure her clothes weren’t touching any surface, and she had a coat that practically screamed B. Altman's on 34th and Fifth.

Claire instantly pulled Kaia inside went to the carpet in the living room, which was set up with dolls and action figures. Kaia’s mother scowled at the sight. Castiel glanced at Dean briefly, then walked past the girls and came up in front of Kaia’s mother. Without allowing introduction, the woman hit Castiel with rapid fire demands.

“Supervise them the whole time. Don’t let them watch those superhero shows. Make sure kaia doesn’t touch anything gross in this house. Please make sure the bathroom is clean. I’ll be back to fetch her in exactly three hours. Who is this?” she added at the end and pointed at Dean, who had appeared next to Castiel.

“I’m a coworker of his, just over to fill out some paperwork,” Dean said, and Castiel was surprised by his quick lie. Well, Castiel could be considered Dean’s coworker at Campbell’s, if he was on the payroll, but they were certainly not going to do paperwork.

Kaia’s mother just hummed at Dean’s response, reminded Castiel of the strict pick-up time, then turned and left.

With a deep breath, Castiel clicked the door closed, then turned and rested his back against it. “Quick lie,” Castiel said. “Although it wasn’t really necessary.”

“She’d ask weird questions if I was just ‘over for dinner’,” Dean said with air quotations. 

Before Castiel could collect himself enough to respond, Dean turned and walked back towards the living room, where Kaia and Claire were sitting cross legged on the carpet, playing with Legos. Castiel was sure they were toys boys would play with, but baby dolls were quite expensive.

He followed Dean into the kitchen and watched him observe Castiel’s set up. “Very nice,” Dean said. “I like your apartment. It’s small and has got some serious paint-job issues, but it’s nice.”

Castiel leaned against the fridge. “Thank you,” Castiel said. “It’s kind of the first thing that’s ever been fully mine.”

Dean looked at him, his eyes imploring. Where he stood in the middle of the kitchen would make anyone else on earth look awkward, but there he was, looking like he was in his element in any place he warmed up to, arranging his body smoothly, knowing himself. “I know how that feels,” Dean said. For a moment, his expression dropped into one that was darker, then he glanced at the girls playing in the living room absentmindedly.

Lack of time spent together made Castiel feel awkward, as if ice that he had spent so long chipping away at was now restored between them. “Let’s go sit,” he said. “Sorry there’s not much room.”

Dean shook his head. “You’ve seen my apartment. Just as cramped.” Dean was exaggerating to make him feel better and he knew it. Dean’s place must have been two times the size of his, in addition to another bedroom for Sam. Him and Dean both sank down into chairs next to each other at the kitchen table. They were both in eyeshot of the girls just in case they got into any mischief.

“How’s sleeping in the living room?” Dean asked and he nodded towards Castiel’s bed in the corner, made up and mundane looking.

Castiel signed and crossed his arms on the table. “I need curtains because the light wakes me up every morning,” he said. Dean took off his jacket and rested it on the back of his chair, then he leaned back and seemed to sprawl out. He rested his hand on the back of Castiel’s chair, and it sent shockwaves through his shoulder.

“Isn’t that nice,” Dean said, searching his face. “Waking up to the sun.”

“I suppose,” Castiel said quietly.

“So,” Dean said. “I guess I should ask how you’re doing. You know, pleasantries.”

He was probably asking to see if Castiel need to cry again, which made embarrassment rise in his chest. “I’m okay.”

“Claire seems well,” Dean said, moving the conversation away from grief as if practiced.

Castiel looked over at his niece to see her flying her wonder woman through the air while Kaia watched with amazement, then they made explosions sounds. “I don’t know,” Castiel admitted. “I don’t know anything.”

He looked back to find Dean studying his face. His expression was brazen admiration, and Castiel felt heat rise in his cheeks from that alone. “I think you’re doing okay,” Dean said.

Castiel didn’t know what to say. His just kept watching Claire.

“I miss you playing,” Dean said, as if as an afterthought. As if he didn’t know how much that floored Castiel.

"I can play later if you would like that,” Castiel said, and looked back at Dean.

Dean’s expression was soft and relaxed and Castiel had no idea how he did it. “I’d like that,” he said.

For a little while, they exchanged comfortable conversation. Dean told him how Sam was doing. He was applying for tons of law schools and raking up the bill, but Dean said it was worth it. Castiel told him about his brothers and his evil landlord, and his neighbors. Dean seemed to like hearing about Kelly, as if, as Castiel’s friend, he was giving Castiel’s _new_ friend his blessing.

After a laughing fit about the disastrous first date Sam and Jessica went on, and the miracle that Jessica still liked him enough to have another date tonight, a peaceful silence settled between them. Claire and Kaia were now lying on their stomachs, reading a book to each other. Castiel had asked Missouri if he could borrow Charlotte’s Web for the night, and Castiel could feel Dean’s eyes on him. He kept looking at him like he didn’t care if he was caught. Eventually, Castiel met his eyes.

“We’re still skimming the surface, aren’t we,” Dean said.

Castiel looked down at his hands. The sentence felt like rocks in his stomach. “I thought this would be easier.”

“Talking to me?”

“Talking to anyone. Being…normal. Going back to life.”

Dean took in a breath. “Cas, it doesn’t have to be normal. Not if trying to be normal is too hard.”

“I want it to be normal.”

Dean didn’t respond.

“I want Claire to have a normal life because she deserves it, and now I have no idea what to even say to her,” Castiel said, his voice quiet now as to not alert Claire that they were talking about her.

“It’s gonna take her time. You just gotta take it day by day.”

Castiel looked over at Dean, and Dean had the softest expression on his face. It wasn’t pity, nor was is apathy. It was something deeper. Dean reached over and placed his hand over Castiel’s. Castiel felt the flood gates open, like in some dimension of the universe they spoke like this every day, and bared their souls.

“I know what you’re going through, Cas. I raised my brother. I know how the responsibility feels crushing. You love them, but you don’t want to mess up.”

“It just,” Castiel looked at Dean, waiting for permission to speak. He realized he had already received it a long time ago. “It feels weird not having my brother around anymore. Sure, as we got older, we didn’t speak that often, but at least I knew he was there. But now it’s just me. And people will look at me and see his face. Even I look in the mirror and see his face.”

"I see you,” Dean said. His hand tightened around Castiel’s fingers until Castiel met his eyes. His eyes prickled with the beginning of tears. But he felt no emotion. His vision tunneled until he only saw Dean’s face, and everything else blacked out around him.

Castiel had no idea how long he had been looking at Dean when he felt a tap on his elbow. He turned to see Claire standing next to his chair, holding Kaia’s hand. “Can we have pizza now?” she asked.

Castiel blinked and then the world seemed to come back. He let go of Dean’s hand and turned fully towards Claire. “Of course, why don’t you help make the table?”

Claire and Kaia smiled at each other then went to the kitchen to start gathering silverware. After a moment, Castiel turned back to see Dean getting out of his chair to help out.

Half an hour later, after Castiel called the pizza place, there was a pizza delivery man outside his building, and Castiel brought it back up to his apartment for them to feast. It felt like a normal dinner, and ice seemed to melt away once they started laughing about the stories Claire and Kaia made up. They had such a grand imagination.

Once Dean started telling stories of Sam when he was little, they all lost it. Castiel liked seeing Claire laugh. He had noticed that her smiles were few and far between, and every once in a while, she’d look at him like she was thinking the same thing. He realized they really had grown accustomed to each other’s sadness, and although it was jarring, it was extremely nice to see each other have a good time.

Then there was Dean. His smile lit up the room, and everyone’s silliness bounced off of him. Castiel felt like the luckiest man in the world, having him in his home. Dean would catch his eye and keep it, and throughout the night, Castiel felt more and more comfortable around him.

Halfway through dinner, Dean got up and set up his record player. He put on a popular song by The Everly Brothers. “Now I don’t usually listen to this mainstream stuff,” he said. “Although that makes me sound like a pretentious son of a- _beach_. But Sammy likes this stuff and we gotta give him luck tonight. He’s on a date with a pretty girl.”

“Ew,” Claire. “Dates are so gross! I’m never gonna fall in love, and kiss, and get married and stuff. It’s so gross.”

“Why is it gross, huh?” Dean said. He had another goofy smile on his face like he was a natural at talking to kids.

“Cause boys are gross. I never wanna talk to them,” Claire said, and Kaia nodded her head.

“Yeah boys are pretty gross,” Dean agreed while he sneaked a wink at Castiel. Castiel felt his cheeks burn. “And you don’t really need to date them. You can date anyone you like.”

Castiel held his breath. The two girls just stared up at Dean with eyes the size of dinner plates. Then, Claire shook her head, “I’ll never date a boy. I like girls. They’re nicer and they don’t spit.” Kaia nodded in agreement and took another messy bite of pizza.

_Only trouble is, gee whiz, I’m dreaming my life away_

Dean laughed and Castiel felt his head spin.

Claire and Kaia curled up on the couch and finished reading their book until they heard someone knock on the door. It was Kaia’s mother ready to pick her up. Kaia hugged Claire tight, as if they had talked all night about Claire’s emotional state, but really, Kaia just gave her company. Kaia’s mother gave an approving nod, as if to grade Castiel’s proficiency of being a parent, then they left in the blink of eye. It was fully dark outside now, and Claire’s eyelids were getting droopy.

“Did you have fun?” Castiel said as he knelt down and looked at Claire at her eye level. Claire yawned and nodded slowly, and Castiel felt his heart sail with pride for himself. Maybe he can do this parenting thing after all.

Claire retired to her bedroom after brushing her teeth. She kept the door open halfway for Castiel’s sake.

Castiel and Dean were left alone in the kitchen, cleaning up after the girls and picking up the toys from the floor. “I think you’re doing good,” Dean said. “You make a good dad.”

Castiel huffed at that, not believing it at all. “Thank you. I’m trying, I think.”

“That’s all that matters,” Dean said while walking over to the sink. He started to clean dirty dishes.

Castiel met him at the sink. “You don’t need to clean those. I can do it.”

“I wanna help, Cas,” Dean said, not meeting his eyes.

“You are helping,” Castiel said. He gripped the side of the sink to ground himself.

Dean looked over at him. They were standing so close. Castiel was getting used to the feeling in his gut when Dean was close to him. It was warm and wild and calming all at once. It felt right.

He didn’t know how long they stood there in silence, cleaning and drying dishes side by side. Finally, Dean just stopped, and put down the plate he was working on.

“Cas,” Dean began. “I…I don’t want you to think that I’m taking advantage of you.”

“What?” Castiel said, genuinely surprised.

“When we went to Bobby’s house last month…and we almost…you know. I wasn’t crazy, was I?”

Almost immediately, Castiel shook his head. He recalled that day out by Bobby’s house. The heat, the field, the sky. Dean. “You weren’t…you’re not taking advantage of me, Dean. Your kindness has helped me. You’re not crazy for thinking that we….that we were…”

Dean looked relived, but the intensity was still there. He didn’t let up, didn’t hide. “I care about you, okay? What happened to you is- it’s- it’s killing me. I couldn’t imagine losing my brother- I,” Dean was stuttering. When he mentioned his brother, he looked back down at the sink like he was breaking. “I don’t want to make it all about me, though.”

Before Castiel knew what he was doing, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Dean’s shoulders. It was slow, and delicate. When Dean hugged him back, Castiel felt calm and safe for the first time in a while. He buried his face in Dean’s shoulder, and Dean just held him tightly against his chest.

“I’m here, Cas. I see you,” Dean repeated. “Please don’t…don’t disappear.”

Castiel clung to him tighter. “I don’t want to. I want to feel…”

Dean finished the sentence for him, their voices hushed and private. “You want to feel okay again? You will.”

Castiel hummed into his shoulder and felt drunk in Dean’s embrace. He wanted to have this moment forever.

“Come with me on Sunday,” Dean said quietly. “To Bobby’s house, I mean. I went last week, and he was asking for you.”

“He was?” Castiel said. He shifted out of Dean’s embrace and slid his hands down to Dean’s chest. He touched the necklace that hung on his neck. Dean held his sides, right above his hips. Castiel felt an unbridled thrill within him that he was finally having this. That he was this close to Dean.

“I was worried…I kind of talked about you. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Castiel said. He figured he’d have to tell Bobby eventually. “Does Sam know too?”

Dean nodded. His nose brushed Castiel’s ever so slightly, and Castiel just wanted to collapse forward and kiss him, over and over. Instead, he leaned back a bit to see Dean more clearly. “I’ll have to bring Claire.”

“That’s partly why I asked you. Do you think she’d like it out there?”

Castiel nodded. When Claire was younger, he’d babysit a lot. He’d take her to central park because her life was so saturated in the city, in the concrete, that he wanted for her to be around nature. Even if the nature was groomed, and boxed in. She loved the park, the big pond, and the fields.

He could give Claire a chance to get out of the city, see a different perspective. “Although…we’d have to drive…” Castiel said.

“We’ll take the train,” Dean said, a soft smile on his lips.

“Then, yes,” Castiel said quietly. “I think she’ll like it.”

Dean nodded, then pulled him to his chest again. Castiel moved his hands up and wrapped his arms around Dean’s shoulders. He was practically limp in Dean’s arms. His eyelids grew heavy.

“You should sleep, Cas,” Dean whispered.

“Thank you for coming,” Castiel said at the same hushed volume.

“I can come pick you guys up Sunday morning and we can head to Penn Station together. I’ll pay.”

Castiel shook his head and buried his face closer into Dean’s shoulder. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Let me,” he said. Castiel nodded without his brain consenting, even though he wanted to fight Dean more on it.

Dean pulled away from the hug, and Castiel dropped his arms to his sides. He felt exhausted, and couldn’t help but imagine grabbing Dean’s hand, pulling him to his bed and making him sleep by his side. Maybe if Dean was beside him, he would dream. He hadn’t dreamt of anything in a while, and although it was better than nightmares, sleep hadn’t felt like rest. The ache to have him stay was so strong that he almost said it. Almost.

But Dean stepped away and gathered his jacket. “Goodnight, Cas,” he said.

Castiel watched him slip away. Castiel followed Dean to the door. He wished him goodnight. He watched Dean walk down the hall and disappear down the stairwell.

The world became so quiet that it felt like Dean wasn’t even there to begin with.

Castiel closed the door and went to bed.

**Les jeux d’eau à la Villa d’este**

Sunday came rolling in quickly. The beginning of the weekend was hot, as the June sun came in with a roar. Castiel still hadn’t bought curtains, and he cursed himself every morning. But, every morning, he thought of Dean’s love for the sun and the light, and it made him feel better.

Saturday, him and Claire had gone school shopping. Her teacher had sent a list of supplies she’ll need to get back smoothly, and she wanted some new clothes as well. The school year was almost up, next week was the last week, but Castiel didn’t want to complain about all the things he’d have to buy for her. The colored pencils and the clay and the pipe cleaners she’ll need for a project, and the new shoes she’ll need as hers had a hole in them.

They spent the afternoon on the roof of the apartment building, taking in the sun. Claire was lying on her stomach, basking in the light like a seal, and doing math problems. Castiel helped her occasionally. She’d call out problems that confused her, and he’d gently nudge her in the right direction. They slept early that night, after Castiel played lullabies on the piano and after him and Claire sat on the couch and had a session of comfortable silence, when Claire was no doubt thinking about her parents. He didn’t know what to do. He thought about his brother.

The morning came with the light bleeding through the house, a scramble of notes playing in his head, and a knock on the door. Dean’s smile lit him up inside, and his hair was damp from a morning shower.

“Ready to go?” he asked, then looked behind him and waved down at Claire. “What’s up squirt?” Claire stuck his tongue out at him.

“Claire!” Castiel scolded but didn’t put much effort into it. Claire hopped forward and stood beside him.

“We’re ready.”

They set out as a group towards the station. Claire held his hand the whole time walking down the street, into the subway, then as they stood on the platform waiting for the train. They felt the heat of the day begin to swirl and saw the dust flying into the terminal. The train arrived with a rush of dull air and Claire covered her mouth upon the smell of the city reaching them.

They boarded the train. Claire sat between Dean and the window, and Castiel sat across from them. Knowing how much Dean loved his car, Castiel felt bad that he was condemning him to sit on the train for two hours, but Dean seemed just fine enjoying the views as the city dissolved into greenery and small towns zoomed by. Every once in a while, Claire would pat Dean’s leg and point to something outside- a hoard of cows or a cool river- and Dean would overplay his excitement to please her.

They arrived close to noon, and the sun was high in the sky. Bobby was waiting for them at the station, leaning against his truck, with his hat tugged low on his face. He greeted them happily, and on the drive to his house, Claire introduced herself. Castiel was amazed at the little girl. How smart she was, how extroverted. He was surprised he was related to her, as he was never like this as a kid. He was quiet, and angry, and he wouldn’t be nice to people even if his parents scolded him. She got it all from Jimmy, and a lot from Amelia too.

The sight of Bobby’s house was like stepping into a pleasant reoccurring dream. The windows were open, the sun cut through, the dog was barking and rolling in the grass. Castiel hadn’t realized how much he grew to like the house only after the one time he visited it. He had been acquittanced with the hills behind the house, that seemed to roll on for miles and miles, and the view of the Jody’s barn.

The moment Claire got out the car, she went over to the dog. Castiel almost jerked forward to pull her back, but the dog didn’t growl. Claire bent down to pet him, and he grew all floppy and soft and he rolled onto his back for her to rub his belly.

They went inside for lunch. Bobby made burgers, and then Dean went out to work on the cars like usual. Castiel and Claire sat at the picnic table, reading picture books Bobby had stored away. The books were all about urban legends and myths, and some of the pictures were a bit scary, but Claire seemed interested.

“Do you wanna go see the horses?” Dean asked after a little while. The sun was working its way down the sky and Claire was getting sleepy. But the moment Dean said it, she perked up.

The three of them walked down the yard together, carefully stepping down the little hill, all the while Claire held Dean’s hand. Seeing them walking in front of him awoke a strange warm feeling in Castiel’s chest and he tried to bury it down. They entered Jody’s farm, and the familiar smell hit him. “You’ll get used to the sh… _stinky_ smell,” Dean told them, trying not to curse.

Jody had a class in session alongside another instructor, a blonde woman with a huge smile. When she saw the three of them standing along the fence, Jody came bounding over, a helmet on her head and a riding crop in her hand.

“Hello there! Castiel was it?” Jody said. “It’s nice to see you again. And who’s this?” Castiel picked up Claire so she can see over the fence and she sat on his hip, facing Jody.

“I’m Claire,” she said with her hands folded by her chest.

“Nice to meet you, Claire. I’m Jody. Do you like horses?”

“I like the ones in central park but they’re so sad,” Claire said, and Castiel thought the same exact thing.

“Well these guys are happy,” Jody said, and as a rider came around with her horse, Jody grabbed its bit and guided it over to Claire. Claire giggled as the horse nudged its nose into her open palm. “They’re friendly see?”

Claire nodded and Castiel put her down on the ground again. Claire reached up and grabbed Dean’s hand.

“Need anything Jody?” Dean said, with one arm propped up casually on the fence.

“Trails, boys, I always need the trails cleared. If you want, you can go do that while Claire and the students have a little afternoon snack. I’m sure they’ll love her.”

Castiel felt tense, leaving Claire on her own. But she wasn’t on her own, and maybe a bit of time away from him will do her good. Him and Dean agreed to go work on the trail, and Jody ended her class. All the girls dismounted, and they guided their horses over to the barn to get their saddles off. Castiel knelt down in front of Claire, made sure she was okay on her own for a bit, then ruffled her hair and kissed her forehead.

Castiel took one last look as Claire sat down at the picnic area with older girls, and worry built in him. But, as quickly as it came, the nerves were washed away when he saw the girls smiling at her and giving her attention. Claire smiled right back.

Dean lead him through the wooded path just as he did nearly a month ago. Castiel watched his feet mostly, to steady himself. He stepped exactly where Dean stepped. It felt like déjà vu. The same scenery, the same sun, only a bit stronger. This time they didn’t run, and eventually Dean fell back into step with Castiel.

They walked in silence until they reached the clearing of the big field. Dean took in a deep breath. “Wanna run to the center?”

“We can walk this time,” Castiel said and Dean gave him a fond smile. They walked side by side into the field, taking in the afternoon sun.

When they got to the center of the field, the heat was sweltering, and Dean lied down in the grass like he had a month ago. Castiel sat beside him, propping his elbows on his knees. They sat in silence for several boiling moments, then he felt Dean’s hand come up and trace circles on his lower back, feeling the material of his shirt.

“What is happening?” Castiel asked quietly. “With us I mean?”

Dean sat up and mirrored how Castiel was sitting. Their shoulders bumped together. “I don’t know. Is it weird to you?”

Castiel took a minute to work his mouth around the word. “No,” he said.

Dean hummed in response. “I don’t think it’s weird either. I just- with you-” Castiel could tell he was trying to articulate his feelings, but it was almost painful to hear. Dean was uncharacteristically awkward, and it broke that mask he wore of the slick bartender, the cool guy in the center of a flourishing downtown.

“I feel like I can breathe,” Castiel said quietly.

After a minute, Dean pressed his shoulder closer to Castiel’s and he hummed in agreement.

Castiel still had more to say, and he didn’t know how to say it without sounding like he was whining or accusing Dean of being wrong about everything. “I just…,” he started. Dean tilted his head towards him, listening. “You don’t have to…take care of me. You know? I…I’m okay. I mean- yeah. And-”

“Look Cas,” Dean began. “You see, I have this curse, right?”

Castiel looked over at Dean with his brow furrowed, unsure where Dean was going with this. In the afternoon light, Dean looked holy and gorgeous. The sun lit up the tips of his eyelashes.

Dean continued. “I have this curse where I care about people I lot. And when I meet someone, I can’t give them up. I…I’m loyal, I guess. Or sentimental. Or stubborn. Whatever it is- I don’t just let people go. Can’t just let them out in the cold. It’d kill me.”

Castiel watched him carefully. Dean didn’t meet his eyes, he just casted them wide over the field before them, towards the farm. “So don’t tell me not to care cause if I’m being honest I don’t know if I could physically do that.”

Castiel swallowed. “What about Lisa?” It was a stupid question, he knew that. But, he didn’t want to look at Dean head on, he couldn’t. He didn’t want to pick apart what he said, or let it sit and stir and grow between them.

Dean let out a short laugh. “Lisa?”

“You were dating her, weren’t you?

Dean finally turned to look at him. His expression was unexpected. If Castiel wasn’t crazy he would have said Dean looked like a bundle of nerves. Dean’s eyes had an unreadable expression, a faraway look. But as he studied Castiel’s face closer it was like it all came barreling back. His focus. His oppressive gaze. Came back like the tide. His eyes were so green. “Shit…” Dean said. “I haven’t talked to Lisa in, I don’t know, a month or so? We broke it off- whatever _it_ was...I mean, amicably. She’s great but, you know, we were just steppingstones for each other.”

“Steppingstones?”

“She was gonna meet some guy that was better for her and I was gonna…I don’t know. It was never serious.”

Castiel hummed as a response and broke his eye contact with Dean to look down at his hands, clutching his knees. 

“But I wouldn’t abandon her, if that’s what you’re insinuating,” Dean continued. Castiel instantly wanted to interject and say that he would never think such a thing, that he only asked because he was jealous. He only asked because he wanted Dean for himself. After everything, he admitted to that selfish desire. To own, or perhaps to just be with, to sit besides, to cherish. “I wouldn’t abandon anyone,” Dean said. But, just as the words came out of his mouth, they fell flat, hollow. Like Dean was trying to convince himself of it. “I wouldn’t,” he said again, forcing it out with sincerity.

“I believe you,” Castiel said.

Dean looked away again, his eyes fixing on some point beyond his shoes. Slowly, Castiel worked up the courage to move his hand from his knee and touch Dean’s. It was tentative, painfully slow, and almost awkward like Dean was his middle school crush. But, Dean instantly uncurled his fingers, splayed them open, let Castiel hook his pinky around his.

They were sitting close now, Castiel felt small beads of sweat roll down his back and sink into his shirt. He saw Dean’s shirt stick to his shoulders in the summer heat. Waves of steam rose from the grass. Occasionally, smooth wind would cast through and rattle their hair. Dean was looking up at the clouds, but Castiel kept studying him, his eyes darting between the side of his face and their pinkies linked together. Castiel was struck by how casual Dean was, how accepting his was of Castiel’s pull for affection, for physical touch. Dean opened himself up with no shame, no exceptions. Their affection was raw and open under the sun.

Finally, Dean dropped his eyes to his. They looked the way Castiel expected. Fierce yet incredibly soft, and he was all freckles and smooth gold. He was gold. Dean’s gaze slipped down to Castiel’s lips for a split second; then back up. Their faces were close now, inches away. It would be so easy.

“What do you want, Cas?” Dean finally asked, breaking through the dizzying sounds of the forest around them. Dean asked so timidly that it made Castiel’s chest tighten.

Castiel has kissed people before, sure. In high school, this girl, Meg, kissed him in a closet while playing seven minutes in heaven, and Castiel felt nothing. He was confused as to why people kissed, if it wasn’t to show something; speak a message without words. Kissing, like playing piano, was something that required a full heart and a focused mind. If you don’t give it that, you’re not even playing, you’re not even kissing, or loving. Castiel realized, as if someone had punched him in the gut, that he wanted to play Dean like an instrument. Have him underneath his fingers. He wanted to hold him down, press all his buttons, reach all his spots, make him moan out melodies. He wanted to lay him out under the sun and play a slow quiet song. This was Dean. _Dean_. Solid and warm and kind.

“Kiss me,” he said.

Almost instantly, Dean leaned forward and pressed his lips to his. Suddenly, the last month was erased. No car crash, no Claire in his tiny apartment. They were back in the beginning of May.

Dean’s lips were soft and forgiving, and at first, he pressed his lips firms to his, then opened his mouth just as Castiel did. Their breaths collided and when Dean closed his lips to his again, it was incredibly gentle and slow. Castiel moved his hand to cup Dean’s jaw just as Dean pressed a hand to his chest and guided him down till his back was rested on the grass. Dean was over him then, kissing him deep and slow, and gliding on top of him until he straddled his hips. His hands went to Castiel’s chest, gripping his shirt in his fists. Castiel’s hands carded through his hair like he always wanted to do. And this was messy and unpracticed, and they were sweating in the sun, but it was Dean, and it was everything he’s wanted for months. That man he met under the dim lights of the bar he owned that inebriated night was now over him, feeling the tight muscles of his chest, and Castiel’s thumbs felt free to feel his cheekbones, his temples, his browbones.

Castiel’s hands dropped to Dean’s shoulders and he pushed at them slightly, their lips not leaving each other’s, and now Dean was flipped onto his back in the grass, and Castiel dropped over him. For a second, Castiel pulled away and was met with Dean’s wanting expression, his eyes dark and his lips pink and wet. Castiel took both of Dean’s hands in his and gently pinned them beside his head. Dean’s breath caught in his chest as Castiel kissed him again, harder this time. He pushed his tongue against Dean’s, bit his lip ever so slightly. Dean’s hands glided up his thighs, on his hips, then swept under his t-shirt, where they lied firmly on his bare skin. He sucked at Castiel’s lower lip, pulling out a moan. Then, Dean’s lips traveled to his jaw, then his neck. Castiel practically melted down onto him, their chests aligned.

Then, Dean started tickling his stomach, and Castiel tried not to laugh but he did, and Dean got the upper hand and flipped them again. They wrestled in the grass for a bit, Castiel pushing his fingers through Dean’s short hair and pulling at his clothes, laughing the whole time. Dean pulled up Castiel’s shirt and started kissing his stomach. His lips trailed up his chest and Castiel fell quiet, feeling his whole body shutter. Dean opened his mouth and Castiel felt his teeth drag on him, then his tongue smoothing over. Finally, Dean’s mouth found his neck and he sucked on it hard. Castiel couldn’t help but moan out but the sound was cut off by Dean pressing his lips hard against his again. Castiel wrapped his arms tightly around Dean’s neck and Dean settled down flush on top of him.

They stayed that way for a while, lazily kissing wherever they could find skin. Castiel’s lips grazed over Dean’s temple, Dean kissed the crook of his neck. Castiel felt invigorated but so safe under Dean’s weight at the same time. Dean found Castiel’s lips again, and he kissed him soundly. He didn’t know how much time had passed, them just lying there, experimenting and exploring each other’s lips.

Dean pulled away first, and with a firm press of lips to the bolt of Castiel’s jaw, he sat up and stayed straddling his hips. His hands pressed heavy onto his chest, Castiel’s shirt was pulled up to his collarbones, and Dean’s thumbs smoothed over his nipples. Castiel propped himself up on his elbows and sneaked in another peck on Dean’s lips until Dean straightened up completely.

“Fuck,” Dean breathed out, almost as an afterthought.

“Yeah,” Castiel said. He had noticed just now how the sun had moved down the sky and was now just barely blooming into an amber sunset. Each blade of grass had a hazy shadow. It was going to get chilly soon.

Dean pulled Castiel’s shirt down and smoothed a hand over it. It was probably wrinkled, and grass stained. Then, Dean pushed a hand through Castiel’s hair, trying to flatten it down, though it probably looked incorrigible and wild. Dean looked just as muddled. The collar of his t-shirt was uneven, his hair was spiking up in all directions, and he even had some grass and dirt on his cheek. Castiel reached up and smoothed it off.

Dean got off of Castiel and collapsed heavily onto the ground next to him, his breathing uneven. “That was…”

“Uh huh,” Castiel said, his fingers smoothing over his heart, feeling its heavy beating.

“We should get back,” Dean said.

“Claire has school tomorrow,” Castiel said. “How long have we been here?”

“I have no idea. Not long.”

They didn’t move. They just sat on their backs; their shoulders pressed against each other. Dean turned onto his side and tucked his face into Castiel’s neck, where he started pressing wet kisses. Castiel slipped his eyes closed, reached up and held the back of his head, keeping him secure there. Dean trailed up and kissed behind his ear, his nose brushing into his hair.

“We should go,” Dean whispered into his ear.

Castiel nodded but didn’t open his eyes or move his hand. Dean hummed and pressed more kisses. On the shell of his ear, on his cheek bone, on his jawline, then one his neck again. Castiel mumbled: “Can we stay here forever?”

“No,” Dean said quietly, and shifted away. He sat up and sat cross-legged. “But that would be nice right? To live here and not in the city.”

Castiel hummed in agreement, then sat up too and leaned onto Dean. “You have your bar.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, and if Castiel mind wasn’t so hazy from the kissing, he would think that Dean said it darkly, with some kind of contempt in his voice.

Dean looked over and pecked his lips again, then stood and stretched. Castiel looked up and watched his muscles work, he heard a pop in his shoulders, then Dean held out his hand to help Castiel stand. Castiel took it and Dean pulled him up. Dean couldn’t seem to stop kissing him. Once they were both standing, Dean took his face between his hands and kissed him gently. Castiel slowly cupped Dean’s elbows. The kiss was slow and smoldering, and Castiel almost felt like this was the most familiar thing in the world. That he’s had this for years. 

Dean finally broke away, and started walking back towards the woods, only glancing back once to see if Castiel was following. Castiel followed him down the trail, and then they goofed around, laughing and hopping over the rocks and sticks in the trail, kicking them away as a pathetic attempt to clear the trail the way Jody wanted.

As they came back to the farm, their faces were pink flushed with laughter, and Castiel saw Claire running towards him, her hair like a blonde flame behind her. He knelt to one knee and Claire jumped into a hug. “I met all the girls and they’re all so cool! I wanna be like them. There’s this girl- Alex. She’s so smart and pretty. I wanna be like her.”

When Claire pulled away, Castiel yanked at one of her curls and watched it spring back up. “That’s great to hear. I’m glad you had fun.”

“Can we come back here? Mommy would have loved it here!” Claire said, and the words hit Castiel straight in the chest.

He wiped something- a bit of strawberry jam maybe- from Claire’s chin with his thumb, then held her shoulders firmly. “She would have, yes. And so would your father.”

Castiel looked up and saw that Dean had gone to Jody and they were now coming over to speak to them. Castiel straightened up, and mindlessly took Claire’s hand.

“Thank you for watching her Jody,” Castiel said.

“No problem,” Jody said, and leaned down to poke Claire in the cheek. “She’s a little angel.”

Castiel felt something course through him, and he remembered. His brother used to call him that, said he wasn’t much his twin but more like the angel on his shoulder. In high school, he once beat a kid up for smashing his lunch in Jimmy’s face. Jimmy said he was his guardian. Castiel was always confused at being called the angel in the family, as, behind Luke of course, he was the biggest troublemaker. But his brother loved him all the same.

And the nickname had, inevitably, passed on to Claire as soon as Jimmy and Amelia noticed how much she took after him. “Little angel,” Amelia would call her. It ripped through Castiel’s chest. It was all there again, despite his attempt to lose himself and his grief against Dean’s lips. It was still there like a heavy weight around his neck.

Castiel swallowed and looked over at Dean, almost instinctually, looking for solace.

“Ready to go?” Dean said. He put his hands on his hips. “We can get dinner somewhere near midtown maybe, on the way home.” He was speaking to both Claire and Castiel, as if their “home” was the same place.

They all said goodbye to Jody, and Castiel saw her give him a weird look, her eyes flicked down to his neck, then she turned and went back to her office. He suddenly realized, with horror, that Dean must have left marks.

Dean told Bobby about their dinner plans, and he practically cursed him out. He quickly made them some sandwiches for the road- bacon lettuce and tomato- and they all thanked him extensively. They could eat the sandwiches on the train.

Claire fell asleep with her head on Castiel’s lap after they boarded the train and ate their sandwiches. Dean sat across from him, occasionally bumping his legs into his to remind him of his presence. Castiel’s mind was still reeling from their kiss in the field, and Dean still had faint green grass stains on his t-shirt. They stayed in comfortable silence, watching the world outside slowly fade into darkness as the lights blurred with the speed of the train.

When they got to Penn station, Claire had gotten another wind, and had enough energy to walk to the subway rather than piggyback. She reached up and held Dean’s hand that time as they walked and stood on the platform. But then on the subway she dozed off against Castiel’s shoulder as they made their way down to Greenwich.

“You should come by the bar this week,” Dean said as he sat on the other side of the subway car. Now that they were in public, he didn’t want to sit too close to him. “People have actually been asking about you. All those aspiring writers trying to write America’s next masterpiece.”

“Really?” Castiel said, trying not to be too loud as Claire snoozed against his shoulder.

“Of course. ‘Where’s the piano man’ someone asks me at least once a day.”

“I’ll come by when Claire is at school.”

“You think she’s ready?” Dean asked, looking genuinely concerned. They both looked down at Claire, who looked deeply asleep. Castiel felt bad that he may wake her soon when they get off the subway.

“I don’t know,” Castiel said. “She seemed okay today.”

“Are you okay?” Dean asked and Castiel looked up at him. Dean’s eyes were imploring, and just as soft as they were in the field.

Castiel didn’t know. He felt okay in the moment, and that day had been the best he’s had in months. He felt his heart soar when he recalled Claire’s smile while she sat at the picnic table with the group of girls. “I think so,” Castiel said, although he didn’t know if he was lying, and he didn’t know if it was too soon. How soon after someone you love dies can you say you’re okay? Was it spitting on Jimmy’s name? He instantly felt ashamed, but he tried to bury it down. Jimmy would want him to be happy, even if it took him faking it for months until it was true.

Dean didn’t push any further, electing instead to just observe the people in the subway car: the businessmen arriving home late from work, the young couples coming home from dinner, the homeless man who seemed to be riding the subway endlessly on a loop.

When they arrived in Greenwich, Castiel tried his best to be as gentle as possible. He scooped up Claire in his arms and let her drool on his t-shirt. To his surprise, she stayed asleep, and he felt proud that she felt safe in his arms.

Dean walked him to his apartment, even going all the way up the stairs with him. The first thing Castiel did when he went through the door was tuck Claire into her bed, take off her shoes, and turn off her light. He felt bad for keeping her out all day, but it was still an adequate bedtime, and he reasoned that she’d be energetic and ready to go to school tomorrow.

Dean stood idle in the doorway, his hand on the frame, and he watched Castiel carefully.

“She good?” he whispered when Castiel closed her door halfway and came to stand in front of him. Castiel nodded.

“Goodnight…then,” Dean said.

“Goodnight,” Castiel said, but Dean made no move to leave. They were like teenagers after a first date, lingering by the doorway, not knowing what to do.

Dean glanced down the hall both ways, then broke the tension by leaning forward and kissing Castiel quickly. The moment he moved away, Castiel leaned back in again and kissed him slower, deeper. Dean let out a breath.

When they parted, Dean had a soft smile on his face, and his eyes were still closed.

“Get home safe, okay?” Castiel said. Dean opened his eyes and nodded, but then leaned in again and kissed Castiel one more time, short and sweet. “Go,” Castiel said with a quiet laugh.

Dean pretended to complain, but then stepped back and started walking down the hallway, his hands in his jacket pockets. Castiel watched him go like he did several nights ago. Dean glanced at Castiel once more, then descended the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come be nice to me (please) on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/green-eyes-and-classic-rock)


	8. Motif

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a dominant idea or central theme

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: a certain character is pretty racist. During 1958, the most influential urban planner of NYC was [Robert Moses](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Moses), and he basically set the example for favoring highways as opposed to public transit, (unofficially yet undeniably) segregating neighborhoods, making white-washed suburbs, and spreading the most unsubtle racism there is.  
> Yes I know this is a destiel fanfic but look at this American history!  
> -and yes I know the racist character is beloved but here he's bad sorry-

“Some things are more precious because they don't last long.”  
― Oscar Wilde

**Un sospiro**

Castiel woke up an hour before Claire was supposed to get up. While being as quiet as possible, he got breakfast ready, packed Claire’s backpack, and even set out clothes for her to wear that he thought she would like. He had no idea what he was doing.

Then, Claire wouldn’t get up. Castiel sat cross-legged on the floor beside her bed and put his chin on her mattress, right where her little hand was curling up in a tight fist. Her sleeping face was tense and screwed up. “Hey,” he whispered, then reached out and poked her shoulder. Her eyelids fluttered. “You gotta get up, okay? Time for school.”

Claire groaned and rolled over, facing her back to Castiel.

“Are you okay?”

Claire mumbled something indecipherable, and Castiel pressed his forehead to the mattress, feeling nerves bubble in him. “Claire?”

Claire shifted and Castiel looked up to see her leaning against the wall beside her bed. She was slumped over, her eyes droopy with sleep. “I’m scared.”

Castiel crossed his arms on the bed. “Why?” Although, he knew why.

Claire lied back down and mumbled into her pillow, “I don’t know what to say to everyone. I know all the kids are gonna ask me about what happened. I know everyone is gonna stare at me. I’m scared.”

Castiel would be lying if he said he didn’t expect this. “But you’ll get to see Kaia.”

“I don’t even wanna do that.”

“So, what do you want to do?”

“I can’t go,” she said. “I can’t move.” Her voice was choking up, and Castiel could see her hands were shaking a bit. He reached out and covered her little hand with his. Claire had tears in the corners of her closed eyes.

“I’ll call the school okay?” He was sure he wasn’t supposed to do that, as he read that a parent should try not to give into their child’s begging, but Claire is a special case. She needs to do things at her pace.

Claire didn’t say anything else, she just turned around again and curled into a ball.

Castiel called the school. While waiting on the line, he realized that it would kill him to see Claire like this the next morning as well. She needed more time. Castiel told the secretary that Claire wouldn’t be attend class the whole week, and therefore she’s done until September. Claire was usually confident, and tough for her age, so seeing past that façade was making him want to fall over himself to make her feel better again.

Claire didn’t need to attend school just yet, and frankly, it was cruel for the school to even want her back at all before summer vacation. He just wanted to comfort her, because comforting her kept his mind off of his own low mood. He took a pillow from his bed, went back into Claire’s room, and lied down on the floor beside her bed.

He must have fallen asleep because when he awoke, the apartment outside Claire’s room was awash with bright light, and Claire was propped up on her elbows reading a picture book that Bobby let her borrow.

“What time is it?” Castiel asked her. Claire said it was around noon. Castiel heard his stomach growl before he felt it. It was so loud that Claire looked over him and laughed. He was glad that she was feeling better, at least. “We should go out and get food. We have nothing in the house.”

Claire agreed, and Castiel got up and walked out of her room to let her change. Sleeping on the floor for a couple of hours did not do him well, and when he stretched, his back cracked. When he wandered to the kitchen, he remembered that he made breakfast, and the sad bowl of cereal he left out for Claire was sitting soggy on the table. Castiel threw it out.

Claire came out of her room a couple minutes later. She was wearing an entirely different outfit than what Castiel had laid out on her dresser, and for a moment Castiel felt embarrassed, like he was trying to baby her. He knew he didn’t know much about parenting, or what Claire needed from him. She didn’t seem phased.

They headed out together, and Castiel didn’t know why, but he had the urge to see Ellen. Ellen would tell him what to do, after scolding him for not seeing her for so long, and he’s been meaning to introduce her to Claire.

They walked across the park, picked up a sandwich on the way, and walked towards The Roadhouse.

**Fever**

Ellen did scold him for not seeing her in over a month and a half, but the anger instantly left her face the moment she saw Claire. Ellen instantly grew soft, and she set Claire up on a stool by the counter with her sandwich and a cup of chocolate milk.

Ellen explained to him that word had traveled fast, and Gabriel came in a week or two ago to tell her everything. She gave him her condolences, and she looked as if she had been grieving as well. Jimmy was almost like a son to her, at least, when he was younger.

“It’s good to know Claire is in good hands,” she said. “I can’t believe I’ve never met her- and that’s a deep regret of mine, that I didn’t meet her when she was, you know, still with her parents.” They were whispering now, as a new song by Peggy Lee was playing from a turntable.

“Ellen,” Castiel said. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“You seem to be doing just fine. That’s parenting, dear. I still have no idea what I’m doing.”

Castiel slumped down in his seat.

“How’s the pianist thing going?”

He had nearly forgotten. When he came back to the city, he was determined to make good money performing. That had been derailed.

“Has Dean helped out?” Ellen said and Castiel instead felt his face heat up. Dean, who less than twenty-four hours ago, was rolling around in the grass with him, kissing him, and making him moan. He realized he forget to check if Dean’s hickeys were still on his neck.

Castiel cleared his throat, and Ellen gave him a weird look. “Um, yeah. Dean’s been helping.”

“Let me call him,” she said. “You should go over to Campbell’s and play. I’ll let him know to kick out all the drunks so Claire can come with you.”

Castiel held out his hand. “You don’t need to do that,” he said. He realized it was foolish to think he was bothering Dean with his presence, and Jesus, did he want to see him again. But he didn’t want to seem desperate. Ellen didn’t know the amount of time they’ve been spending together.

“What is wrong? Did something happen between you two? Are you fighting over a girl or something?”

 _Oh boy. If only she knew._ “I just don’t want to bother him.”

Ellen shrugged. “Alright. I still think you should go over there though. Bit of advice, you need to work, and Claire can’t hold you back anymore. I know from experience. You have to work around have a kid.”

“Was Jo that difficult?”

“You have no idea.”

After a bit of time, once Claire and Castiel were done with their sandwiches, Ellen thanked them for coming by.

Castiel surrendered and headed towards Campbell’s with Claire in hand.

**Sonatine Bureaucratique**

It was supposedly audition day, as Castiel recalled. But there wasn’t much of a line. A few people stood beside the stage, waiting in a queue, while a guitar player was sitting on a stool. Dean was sitting at a table with Sam, who Castiel has never seen in the bar before, or for nearly a month. After another moment of the guy playing, Dean booed him off the platform. He wasn’t that bad, although he did break a string and Castiel could tell that his E string was out of tune. When Dean turned around to see who was next, he spotted Castiel.

Dean instantly looked shocked, and his hands tightened around the armrest of his chair. After a moment, Sam spotted him too. Sam’s face dropped, like Castiel was sad news, but then he plastered on a fake smile like it was practiced. He was tall and gangly in his chair, and he hovered over a huge book on the table before him.

Dean stood up and announced. “No more auditions today. I’ll give free coffee for your inconvenience- but then, um, leave.”

All the performers looked dejected, but then funneled over to the bar, where Garth was cleaning classes.

Dean straightened out his shirt. He was wearing something quite nice- a tan button down, dark brown pants, and a leather belt. It was unlike him, but maybe it was laundry day. He looked incredibly good in it, regardless. The shirt fit him well, albeit a little tight around the shoulders, and the pants hugged him in places that Castiel couldn’t quite seem to drag his eyes away from. Dean’s eyes were bright, well rested.

Dean crossed the bar and came over to greet him front of him. He rubbed the back of his neck. For a split second, Castiel could have sworn that Dean looked nervous. Like a schoolgirl walking up to her crush. A shade of pink was splayed across his cheeks. “Hey Cas. Hey Claire.” He waved loosely to the little girl, who was standing close to Castiel’s leg. “What’s up?”

“Um,” Castiel looked down at Claire. “Hey, Claire, why don’t you go introduce yourself to Sam, okay? He’s that kid sitting in the chair with the big books.” Claire looked up at him and nodded shyly. But she regrew her confidence and flitted over to Sam, who instantly closed his book around a pencil and gave her his attention.

“Cas,” Dean started in a hushed tone. “Don’t get me wrong, I love seeing Claire, but shouldn’t she be at school?”

Castiel gave him a pained look. “She didn’t want to go. She was crying this morning about her parents, and I couldn’t make her go.”

Dean nodded, rubbed his chin, and looked back over at Claire. “That’s worrisome.”

“I know,” Castiel whispered. “She was so great yesterday, right? I guess she just crashed. She seems fine now, but I have no idea.”

Dean bravely stepped forward and put his hands on Castiel’s shoulders. Castiel quickly looked around the room, seeing if anyone was watching them, but no one had noticed. “Breathe, okay?”

“She’s off for the rest of the school year. Now, it’s summer vacation for her. Dean, I don’t know what to do with her. I need to get a sitter or something.”

“You’ll figure something out, okay?” Dean said. “And in the meantime, she can come here. I mean, a bar isn’t really the place for a kid, but just make sure you leave before it gets too um…. adult.”

Castiel shivered at the thought of Claire getting lost in a crowd of people their age, who were kissing and dancing and drinking. “Of course. Dean, thank you.”

Dean dropped his hands. “No need to thank me. I got my care-too-much- curse remember?”

Castiel smiled softly and nodded.

“And…um, yesterday? Was that…”

Castiel knew Dean was being shy, and he wasn’t even sure what he was trying to ask, but he gave him a fond look. “I- she- I…loved it, Dean. I had fun.” He stumbled over his words, his throat catching in the thoughts rolling back in. Dean on top of him, kissing his neck, grass stains, Dean’s mouth on his chest.

Dean wiggled his eyebrows in such a comic way, that Castiel wanted to shake his head in embarrassment for liking such a goofball. “Fun, huh?” he said and even winked.

Castiel groaned, but his heart fluttered. “Shut up.”

Dean laughed. His cheeks bunching up and happy wrinkles forming beside his eyes. After a moment, Castiel glanced behind Dean and saw Sam making funny faces tat Claire, and Claire was laughing and holding her stomach. Man, the girl was a rollercoaster.

Him and Dean walked over to the pair and Dean plopped down into the chair beside his brother. Castiel sat down on the edge of the platform.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam said. “It’s good to see you.” Castiel knew Sam was trying to send some sympathy his way but didn’t want to alert Claire into thinking so. He gave Sam a grateful smile, and Sam returned it. “I was telling Claire- I wanna hear you play something. She says you’re good. I’ve never heard you play.”

Castiel smiled and instantly obliged. He stood and went to the piano. The familiar sight of it made his chest ache. He hadn’t played here in months, and it killed him.

He sat down on the bench, lifted the fallboard, and splayed his hands over the keys. He stroked them gently, not pressing them to make any noise, just feeling the acrylic coating of the white keys. “Get a room,” Dean called out with a whistle. Castiel looked over at him to glare but the expression died on his face when he saw the way Dean looked at him, his pupils wide, his lips parted- he looked enraptured.

Castiel felt confident, and finally pressed on the keys and began to play the piano that he hasn’t played since his brother was alive. He played a cheerful composition, one that instantly made him feel like a kid again, running through the city in the summer with Jimmy, swiping peaches from food carts, and racing through Time’s Square.

Once he was done, Claire and Sam clapped for him, but Dean kept his hands on his knees, and watched him. There were several people sitting down at tables around him- auditionees who were bitter that Castiel got to play. But they clapped as well, and even looked minorly impressed. They sipped their coffee and chatted amicably amongst themselves, as if the piano music had singlehandedly raised their spirits.

The rest of the day went by slowly, like a calm dream. Castiel continued to play a mixture of Satie, Liszt and Bach, and even a little bit of improvisation on his own. Tips came trickling in. Dean, Sam and Garth muddled around, working the bar, while writers and businessmen and curious people stepped in for coffee. Claire sat on the platform and colored on a sheet of paper Dean fished out. Sam had to go down the street to a pharmacy and pick up some crayons. Castiel thanked them profusely.

The day was waning, and Castiel started getting ready to leave well before the evening crowd began rolling in.

He heard someone clear his throat behind him as he closed the lid over the piano keys, and he turned to see Dean with the tip hat in his hand. “Let’s take a look in Benny’s trusty hat,” he said, then pulled out a decent wad of cash. “For you, my dear,” Dean said and presented Castiel his tips like he was bowing to royalty.

“Why thank you good sir,” Castiel responded, and took the money from Dean’s hands.

“Thank _you_ , I mean,” Dean said as he straightened up. “It’s nice having you back.”

Castiel smiled, and Claire came over and wrapped her arms around his leg. “Look what I drew!”

“What’s that?” He looked down to see a drawing of two figures- a short one with blonde hair and a very tall one with black hair and big blue dots for eyes. There was a messily drawn black piano beside them, although Castiel could tell Claire tried her best. Castiel felt like he could faint with pride.

“It’s you and me. I can add Dean in another drawing later if you want.”

“As long as you make me all handsome,” Dean said softly. “And maybe give me a big mustache.” Claire giggled. Dean and Castiel shared a look.

After saying goodbye to Sam, Garth, and a few spectators that had become fans, Castiel and Claire left the bar. Castiel felt like he was walking on air.

**All Shook Up**

Two weeks pass of Castiel and Claire working out a routine. They wake up midmorning, Castiel makes breakfast, then Claire shadows him wherever he goes.

Claire has enjoyed hanging out at Charlie’s store while Castiel works. Her and Charlie become thick as thieves, and Charlie lets her slowly read through her collection of wonder woman comics. They’re a little above Claire’s reading level, but she adapts with their help.

He grows concerned that Claire has been hanging out too much with people more than three times her age, and how that must be doing something weird to her development. But she seems fine, and Charlie can confirm. She’s a hilarious and confident little ball of blonde energy. When people talk over her like she’s insignificant, she gets short with them. Charlie fondly calls it her “sass” and Castiel grows to love his niece more than his heart can take. He sometimes forgets that both her parents died less than two months ago, and when he remembers, most of the time, it’s late at night, it hits him like a freight train.

Most nights, although it grew less frequent, he could hear Claire crying in her room, probably from nightmares. He would go in, wrap her up in his arms, and bring her out to his bed, which was bigger and cozier. When the sun would wake them up in the morning, she seemed to be okay. He keeps delaying buying curtains for this reason.

Every other day, him and Claire would go to Campbell’s. Claire would sit sprawled out on the stage next to the piano, drawing or reading. Her and Sam grow fond of each other. Sam would gush about children’s books he used to read when he was little and compliment her drawings. Sam would tell him and Claire all about his girlfriend Jessica- who is looking to study elementary education at Stanford and get an art degree on the side.

Then, there’s Dean. They dance around each other every time they’re in the same room. Whenever he’d be in Campbell’s, Dean would remain in the corner of his eye, standing behind the bar like an anchor as Castiel played piano. They briefly talked several times, but with work picking up for Castiel again, the summer coming in full swing and the bar packed up during the days, they were both busy.

One thing remained between them, to remind them of their silent devotion to one another. Dean would request songs, and Castiel would strictly avoid whatever song he requested until Dean least expected it. He’d look at Dean then, and see the smile spread on his face- knowing that he was thinking about their day in the sun.

He’d see women come up to the bar and hit on Dean, but Dean would cast them away, and glance at Castiel innocently, as if he was just looking to check in. Castiel knew it meant more.

He also began a routine of having dinner with Kelly and Missouri a couple times a week. It was mostly to help Claire socialize with kids her age- Jack, Bel and Patience. But Castiel also appreciated his deepening friendships with the two women. Missouri said she was surprised he hasn’t cut and run from the “haunted” apartment, and Castiel said the sun was what was killing all the creatures in the shadows.

One day, well into the kids’ summer vacation, Castiel and Claire came back from the grocery store to see Missouri having a tense conversation with Crowley.

“You increased my rent by thirty dollars last month. Why are you increasing it again?”

“Robert Moses, sweetheart. He says I can do what I want and, remember, I could’ve shut you out years ago. You should be grateful.”

Missouri seemed to be paying the monthly rent- which reminded Castiel that he was a bit overdue- and she opened her purse and pulled out a wad of cash. Patience was standing next to her, and when Claire saw her, she skipped ahead and went up to her. Castiel came up beside Missouri and absentmindedly pulled out his own cash from his wallet, ready to pay Crowley when she was done.

“This may not be a good time,” Missouri said to Crowley. “But I assume there’s no better time to ask. I’ve been thinking of starting up a daycare business. A lot of Patience’s school friends have parents that work and they’d benefit if their kids had somewhere to go during the day. I was wondering if I could use that empty supply room over there. It’s rather big, right? And you’re not putting it to any use anyway. You’d get 40% of the profits.”

“70%,” Crowley’s bargaining made it seem like he was interested, but it was unclear.

“50%.”

“60. I’m not going any lower. Frankly, I should get all the profits. This may be an _integrated_ apartment building, but I have standards.”

Castiel looked up then, finally realizing what kind of conversation this was. His eyes flitted between Missouri and Crowley.

Missouri set her jaw. “For 60% of the profits, are you allowing me to do this?”

Crowley stared at her for a long moment, chewing on a pen, then he nodded reluctantly. “The kids better not make too much noise. And it’s only for the summer.”

Missouri nodded curtly, just once, then took Patience’s hand, and started towards the stairwell.

“Wait,” Castiel said to her. She turned to look at him as he forked over his cash to Crowley- the same rate he pays each month- then caught up to Missouri.

“Castiel,” Missouri said. “I’m sorry but I have a lot to do.”

“Just a moment of your time,” he said. They started walking up to their apartments together. He has to admit, when Kelly was not with them, it was tense between the two of them, as if they didn’t know what else to be but tense. “The daycare sounds like a great idea. I didn’t know you’ve been wanting to do that.”

“Well,” Missouri started, not meeting his gaze. “I love kids. I’ve always wanted to be a teacher or a pediatrician of some sort. But I never got the chance. This is quite new, but I have noticed my friends need some help while they work in the summertime.”

“Could Claire join?” The request came out uncensored, and Missouri gave him a strange look. Castiel instantly drew back on the stairs, and let Missouri ascend several steps ahead.

“You do know…,” she began. “She may be one of the only white children. I’ve already told Kelly, and Jack and Bel are gonna be there, but…”

“Oh,” Castiel said. “Well, she doesn't mind…I don’t…mind,” He didn’t know what to say to make it sound as true as it was. He sounded insincere. 

Missouri narrowed her eyes at him.

“I’ll pay extra- you know, if you need the money.”

Missouri held up her hand, then. “I don’t need extra. Claire can join. Her and Patience have been getting along nicely.” They spoke as if their kids weren’t with them, but Claire and Patience didn’t seem to notice as they played patty-cake.

Castiel smiled. “Well, thank you. I really appreciate it.”

Missouri nodded again. “Honey,” she said softy down to Patience. “We gotta go now.”

“Okay,” Patience said slowly, then waved goodbye to Claire.

“Missouri,” he called up to her again. “We should, um, have coffee sometime. Just you and me.”

Missouri gave him a cautious look. Then, nodded neatly, and her and Patience ascended the stairs and disappeared behind the corner. 

Castiel gave Missouri and Patience a bit of a head start, then him and Claire went up the stairs to their apartment to make lunch.

**Roll Over Beethoven**

Claire’s first day at daycare went smoothly. Castiel was able to go to work without worrying if Claire was bored lying around Charlie’s shop all day, and it was nice to know she was socializing with kids her age. When he got home and picked her up, she raved the rest of the night about the friends she was making. Missouri let them do crafts, and dance around. Claire begged Castiel to have Jack, Bel and Patience over for dinner sometime that week.

Friday night, he got a call from Gabriel.

“Little bro,” he said. “I’m still in town. Little birdy told me you’ve been playing Piano at Campbell’s. I went over there today, asked the male-model looking guy if I could do a standup routine, and I got a timeslot tonight. You comin?”

“Who told you that? And why are you still in town?” Castiel tensed up, knowing that his brother has spoken to Dean. He was sure Dean thought Gabe was just a whole other box of crazy in Castiel’s life, and it’s opened up in Dean’s face because Dean is stuck with him now.

He heard Gabriel click his tongue. “I’m still at our parent’s place, dummy. I’ve missed how awesome this city is. Naomi told me all about your escapades.”

“Gabe,” Castiel began, squeezing his eyes shut. “What about your family in LA?”

“They’ve been fine. I gotta spread my name in NYC.”

Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose. The thought of going to Dean’s bar tonight to watch his brother perform all the while trying not to ogle Dean made him want to throw up. But he finally gave in.

“Nine p.m. Be there.”

He’d have to have Claire sleep over somewhere. He considered going down the hall and asking Missouri, but he felt guilty relying on her so much. So, he called up Kaia’s mother, who he, admittedly, didn’t like to talk to very much because she was a very cold woman. But, she agreed, after explaining that Kaia has been complaining for weeks that she hasn’t seen Claire. When he mentioned to sleepover to Claire, she started bouncing off the walls, and packing her backpack with her toys and books.

They went on the subway, up to midtown, and after actively avoiding walking by Jimmy and Amelia’s old house, Castiel dropped off Claire at Kaia’s. Then, he left as quickly as he came.

He went straight up to Campbell’s, not stopping for dinner because he knew if he was going to get through this, he’d have to get mind-splittingly drunk as quickly as possible.

When he got there, it was already packed with people. Word had spread quickly that the famous Gabriel Novak was performing that night. A Chuck Berry song was blasting from Louden Swain, who were up before Gabriel’s timeslot, and people were cheering and dancing. Couple swung about, women’s long skirts were swaying and brushing against his knees as he walked up to the bar.

Dean was juggling several pints of light beer, their bubbles fizzing down his wrists. Groups of women were leaning over the bar, giving him smiles bordered by pristine red lipstick and winking at him when he handed them their drinks. Castiel ducked under the bar hatch and, while Dean was looking away, took a beer from his hand that was tilting precariously. Dean turned and when he saw him, a massive smile spread on his face. “Cas!” Castiel took the beer that he saved from Dean’s hand and gave it to a man that was waiting eagerly for his drink.

Dean clapped a hand down on his shoulder and laughed. “You fucker! You didn’t tell me your brother was a famous comedian?”

“It never came up,” Castiel yelled over the music. He had to lean in close to Dean, tilt his face so his mouth was by his ear, and his lips nearly brushed Dean’s hairline.

Dean pulled back, a flash of something in his eye. Then: “Help me would ya? This is the biggest crowd I’ve had in months.”

Castiel helped Dean just like he did in April, their backs occasionally pressing up against each other’s. Castiel poured beers and Dean made fancy cocktails.

Castiel’s eyes glided across the room and he spotted Sam and Jessica sitting at a booth, Charlie dancing in the fray of the crowd, and Garth bussing tables. When the clock struck nine, he spotted his brother emerge from the backroom, and take the stage.

As Dean finished pouring beer into a tall glass for a customer, Castiel swiped it from Dean’s hands and brought it to his lips. He could hear Dean click his tongue in annoyance but see a small smirk on Dean’s lips from his peripherals. He should expect this. Castiel chugged half the beer down until Dean skirted over and grabbed his wrist, making him lower the glass. “Woah there,” Dean muttered, his body close, his voice practically in Castiel’s ear.

Gabriel tapped the microphone on the stage. Castiel braced himself. 

“Good evening, New York City,” he called out and the bar erupting into a cheer.

Lucky for them, there was a lull at the bar once everyone seemed to be content with their first round of drinks. Dean was able to watch for a moment, and Castiel, on the fringes of intoxication, found himself gravitating close to him. Their shoulders aligned as they leaned against the bar, catching their breath. Castiel tentatively reached over and looped his finger around Dean’s belt loop, under the bar. Dean shifted closer, and Castiel wrapped his hand around the waistline of his pants, anchoring himself.

Gabriel went on to his routine, which was all fresh and new to the people on the east coast. He talked about his kids, and his wife. He talked about the traffic in LA and all the celebrities he sees; he talked about how smelly New York was these days.

When he started joking about his "psychotic" mother, Castiel had to step out for air. He left through the back door of the bar, leaned against the brick wall in the alleyway, and lit up a cigarette.

Minutes later, he heard the door open, then slam shut, and there was Dean- his sleeves rolled up to endure the hot night, bits of beer on his shirt, and his hair mussed up. He sidled up beside him and leaned against the wall, propping a foot up. Under the streetlights out on the sidewalk, he was illuminated from behind, making his face dark but still recognizable from the blue shine of the moon. “Hey,” he said, a casual buoyancy in his voice.

“Hi,” Castiel replied, and sucked in a breath from his cigarette. Halfway through the breath, Dean reached over and pulled the cigarette from his lips and stuck it between his.

Castiel couldn’t find it in him to complain. He looked over at Dean, how gorgeous he looked under the dull amber streetlamp in the alley, how his cheeks hollowed out when he sucked on the cigarettes. He couldn’t look away.

Dean breathed out, and the white smoke curled in the night like a ghost. “No offense, but your brother is kind of an ass. He’s a riot though, or at least the crowd thinks so. That’s why I haven’t kicked him out.”

“He knows how to joke about things one should probably not joke about. He does it with precision. But it doesn’t really work on someone who, you know, lives it,” Castiel said, and he took the cigarette from Dean’s hand. Their fingers bumped together and lingered.

“I didn’t know- about your mom, I mean.”

Castiel took a sharp pull from the cigarette, feeling the smoke travel all the way to his stomach. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.”

“He didn’t used to joke about this stuff. I guess making fun of our mother got him popular.”

“But is she…”

“Yeah it’s true,” Castiel handed the cigarette to Dean. “After she had my brother and I her brain kind of broke. We’re not sure why. Coulda been postpartum depression. Could have been just…depression. She hasn’t really been the same ever since. I guess someone cruel can joke about it because she sometimes does…weird, wild things. But I always saw past it. I always saw how much she struggled. I help her all I can. I guess since losing Jimmy...”

“Yeah,” Dean said, and he stayed still, holding the burning cigarette, and watching the side of Castiel’s face. “I hope he doesn’t joke about that.”

“He won’t. I know he won’t.”

Dean hummed a response, sucked on the cigarette, breathed out, then reached over and touched Castiel’s chin. Castiel turned to look at him as Dean took the cigarette from his lips then placed it between Castiel’s. Castiel breathed in.

“Thanks for helping out,” Dean said.

“No need to thank me.”

Dean nodded, slowly, and looked like he was contemplating something. Then, he looked up and down the alleyway. No one in sight. Dean plucked the cigarette from Castiel’s lips. Half surprised, Castiel turned and Dean reached up and held the sides of his face. Dean leaned in and pressed his lips to his. 

Castiel leaned into the kiss and breathed out through his nose. He hummed with content as Dean’s tongue slipped between his lips and deepened the kiss.

Out on the street, a car horn rang out, and Dean and Castiel instantly broke apart. Dean looked down the alleyway, panicked, but there was no one, and the car was out of sight. Dean released a breath, then put the cigarette back between Castiel’s lips.

“Dean-”

“We should go back in. Well, I’ll go first.”

“Dean,” Castiel repeated, and ripped the cigarette out of his mouth. He stomped it out. Dean watched him, then Castiel placed a hand on his shoulder. Dean instantly relaxed and shifted in closer to him. Their chests aligned, and they were almost flush from head to toe. Dean put his hands on Castiel’s hips. “It’s okay.”

Castiel placed his hands on either side of Dean’s neck, and Dean tilted his head down to press his lips to Castiel’s. Castiel kissed him back, pushing his mouth open, tasting him. He sucked on Dean’s lower lip, drawing out a clipped breath from Dean. He trailed a hand down Dean’s chest, smoothing over Dean’s button-up, feeling Dean’s necklace through his shirt. He slid his hands to his bicep and squeezed.

Dean’s lips trailed down to Castiel’s neck, just under his ear, and Castiel’s grip on his arm got tighter. Dean kissed him, but didn’t suck hard, so as to not leave a mark. It was wet and hot, and when his lips met his again Castiel felt his knees grow soft.

As soon as Castiel started feeling tight in his pants, and the heat from the night felt suffocating but inviting with Dean so close, Dean pulled away. “See you inside,” he said, and opened the door. He disappeared in an instant.

Castiel felt whiplash, and the loss of Dean was like a horribly cold rip through his chest. But he knew it was a good call. If Dean didn’t put a stop to it, Castiel wouldn’t have been able to control himself. They’re still in public, they could hear the raging crowd inside, and the open city street wasn’t far. Castiel sighed, ran a hand through his hair and went back inside the bar.

The crowd was erupting into laughter as Gabriel was closing in on his final bit- something about Roosevelt and World War II, which seemed of ill taste, but the crowd of young people ate it up. Everyone in the room was young enough to have dodged the draft like a bullet, albeit a very slow bullet, delayed fifteen years. Castiel rolled his eyes at his brother’s joke. Castiel was ready to sign himself away to war, and he didn’t find it goddamn funny.

Another round of drinks was prescribed, and Dean and Castiel worked in conjunction, passing out beers and cocktails.

Gabriel finished off with a booming ‘ _Good night!’_ then wandered to the bar and ordered a cocktail. Dean made it with precision, and Gabriel tried to chat with him before Dean busied himself with something else. Castiel went around the bar and stood next to his brother. “Cassie!” he yelled and took a sip. “Whatcha think?”

Castiel thought of scolding his brother for venturing behind the bar, but he didn’t have the energy. “It’s fine, Gabe,” he said. “Just glad mom didn’t hear it.”

Gabriel waved him off. “Oh, come on. I’m just poking fun.”

“Are you going back west now? Have you had your fun?”

“I’m thinking about it,” Gabriel said absently, and his gaze roved around the room.

“Kali probably wants you back.”

“ _Kali_ knows that I’m taking care of my mother right now because somebody-” Gabriel poked Castiel in the chest. “Abandoned her.”

“I didn’t abandon her,” Castiel tried to keep his voice level as to not cause a scene. He could tell Gabriel was drunk and confident from the laughs he got. “You do know I’m taking care of Claire, right?”

“Something goin’ on?” Dean said as he came up to them from across the bar. He stood behind Gabriel, and Castiel caught his eyes.

Gabriel ignored Dean. “Well she’s been asking for you. And I’ve been trying to be enough for her. But, no, I’m no goody two shoes Castiel. I have my own life,” Gabriel said, a little louder.

“I’ve never been a goody two shoes and you know that. I’ve just been the only one there for her.”

“Yeah sure, lil bro. Keep telling yourself that. It’s not like mom loves you the most, and you’ve just been soaking up that attention all your life.”

“Where is this even coming from?” Castiel said and glanced around. He saw a couple people were alerted to their raised voices. Dean crossed his arms over his chest, staring holes into the back of Gabriel’s head.

Dean interjected, “Guys why don’t you calm down, okay? We’re all having fun. Gabe- can I call you Gabe- you did great-”

Gabriel cut him off. In a hushed town, he said. “I’m going. I expect you to show up at the house sometime soon, or I’m leaving mom on her own and you know how that can go.”

Before Castiel could protest, Gabriel slinked away, moved through the crowd, and left. Upon hearing the door slam, some of the crowd quieted, but then the party erupted again. Louden Swain took the stage.

“You okay?” Dean said.

Castiel turned and placed his hands on the bar. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

Dean shrugged. “I’ve had worse family drama. It’s okay, Cas.” Dean gave him a soft smile, and Castiel melted. He wanted so badly to kiss him again.

Suddenly, an arm draped around his shoulders. Charlie appeared next to him, and then leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Hi honey!” she said loudly. Then, she whispered. “Play it cool. Pretend you’re my husband.”

Castiel looked past her to see a guy on the other end of the bar, checking her out. Dean must have seen him too, because he burst out into laughter. “Not your type huh, Charlie?” he said quietly.

Charlie glared at him, then drunkenly kissed Castiel on the cheek again. Castiel slung an arm around her waist. “Ah yes, my wife,” Castiel said, trying to make his voice sound like that of a quintessential suburban man’s. “Why don’t I get you another drink, wife.”

Castiel purposely made it embarrassing as hell, and he heard Dean bubble over in laughter. He looked over and Dean was clutching his stomach.

“I hate guys at bars,” Charlie muttered. She glanced back at the guy and, upon realizing he was gone, unstuck herself from Castiel.

“Thank you darling,” she said. “Dean, make me something strong.”

Dean glanced between them, then laughed and started making a drink for Charlie.

"I’m jealous of you, Dean,” Charlie said. “I swear every girl without a ring on her finger is eyeing you like they have fucking ex-ray vision.”

Castiel felt something heavy drop in his stomach. Dean turned to Charlie with a massive pink drink and gave her a smile. “I haven’t noticed,” he said.

“Seriously,” Charlie said with a dropped jaw. “Oh, I see. You finally sealed the deal with Lisa.”

Dean kept the light smile on his face, but he shook his head like he didn’t want to comment. He glanced at Castiel once, then again.

Charlie looked between them, and although Castiel didn’t meet her eyes, she could feel her mind working. It was subtle, and the moment passed as quickly as it came.

Charlie slung an arm over Castiel’s shoulder again.

“Look at him, Cas,” Charlie said after taking a sip then smacking her lips. She pointed an accusatory finger at Dean. Castiel caught Dean’s eyes and held his gaze. Dean looked flushed, perhaps from running around all night. “He’s all starry eyed.”

“You’re drunk Charlie. I’ll have Garth get you a cab,” Dean said.

“He’s drunk too!”

“Then I’ll get both of you a cab.”

With a pout, Charlie dived back into the crowd. Castiel looked at Dean bashfully.

“She means well,” he said. “Want a beer?” Castiel nodded.

Above a new crash of music, Castiel shouted. “I found a daycare for Claire. She doesn’t have to come around here during the daytime anymore.”

“Gonna miss her,” Dean said while pouring Castiel a beer from the tap. “The little squirt grew on me.”

“Sorry I talk about her all the time.”

“I’d talk about Sam all the time if I didn’t control myself. Did you see him with Jessica? I swear, someday he’s gonna marry that girl.”

“They look great together.”

Dean handed him a beer. 

The rest of the night, he got drunker and drunker, until all he saw were hazy green eyes. Dean walked him home, it must have been the middle of the night, and Castiel found himself humming some song. It was a strange left-handed piece by Scriabin. The notes went up and down like he was walking through a maze, and after each turn of the corner, something new was there.

Castiel wasn’t sure if he was draping himself over Dean’s shoulders, kissing his face and his neck. He was too drunk to remember if he said anything. All he remembered was Dean’s skin, the exposed part of his collarbone where Dean’s shirt shifted. Maybe he kissed him in the street, or on the stairs up to his apartment. He couldn’t stop his hands, feeling the material of Dean’s jacket, carding through the hair on the nape of his neck. He recalls Dean kissing him deeply in the doorway of his apartment, holding his face soundly between his hands.

Dean made sure he got into his apartment safe, then disappeared.

Castiel hoped, and wished, that he’d stop disappearing someday. He felt like, somewhere, in some alternate reality, they were always separated like ships in the night.

Castiel collapsed onto his bed and fell asleep.

****

**Nocturne in D-Flat Major**

A week or so passed since he saw his brother’s offensive excuse for a comedy show- and since the last time he smoked a cigarette and since the last time he kissed Dean. 

He finally had a day off from Charlie’s store. A new comic dropped, so the place was busy, and she needed the help. Midweek came, and after dropping Claire off at Missouri’s daycare, he went to Campbell’s.

When he got there, there was barely anyone. A small group of young men were smoking and reading, and then there was Dean, behind the bar, his chin propped on his elbow, looking bored.

When he saw Castiel cross the bar, however, Dean perked up. “Cas,” he said. “Jesus, I thought Charlie was never gonna let you go.”

“I escaped,” Castiel said, and took a seat at the bar.

“Coffee?”

“Yes please.”

“Came here to play?”

“And to see you,” Castiel said, and he had to force himself to say it, to show affection. He could easily chicken out, but he wanted Dean to like him.

Dean smiled without looking up, and he poured a cup of coffee for Castiel.

As Castiel sipped his coffee, he felt someone approach him on his right side.

Castiel spun around on his stool to look up at a squirrely young guy. “Hey,” he said, and placed a hand on the bar. “You’re that piano guy, aren’t you? Where’ve you been man? Play something!”

Castiel instantly felt flush- someone had recognized him, and better yet, they were a fan.

Dean gave Castiel a bright smile then gestured towards the piano like a butler. “By all means, Mozart,” Dean said fondly, and Castiel tried to hide a smile.

He finished his coffee, then took to the stage. The group of three guys all clapped- they were certainly stoned. Castiel stepped awkwardly over to the piano then settled down on the bench. He sat for a minute, trying to think of what to play. He wanted to make Dean laugh. He didn’t care much for what his fans wanted, as long as he could see Dean’s pearly smile out of the corner of his eye.

He played a piece by Brahms which is usually an orchestral piece. Translating it to piano diminished the effect a bit, but everyone in the room would certainly know it, or find it familiar enough to laugh. He played Hungarian Dances and added as much flare as he possibly could- pressing hard into the keys, playing quicker, then slower, then loud. To his delight, he saw Dean smile and shake his head out of the corner of his eye. It made Castiel’s heart burst; he felt like he was flying.

He played it twice to lengthen it- the second time he added his own variations, like he always liked to do.

When he was finished, the group of guys clapped, pulled out their wallets and tossed in tips into Benny’s Lucky Hat.

After a few more upbeat songs, the guys packed up their books and cigarettes, and left the bar.

Castiel lost himself in playing, and he hadn’t noticed they were gone until a few songs went flying by. He was practicing a composition by Liszt that he’d always found challenging, when he heard someone breathing beside him between slow notes. He was instantly startled, then looked up to see Dean was leaning against the piano. He thought the room was getting darker, and the shadow that loomed over the keys was simply the day reaching the afternoon. But Dean was there, his arms crossed, his eyebrows raised.

“You really didn’t notice me?” he asked. Castiel shook his head. Dean laughed and sat down on the bench beside him. “You really do just zone out, do you?”

“I guess I do,” Castiel looked back at the keys with amazement.

“What do you think about?”

Castiel didn’t know how to answer. He said the first thing that popped in his head: “My childhood.”

Dean scoffed. “Well, based on that, I guess your childhood was, um, complicated?”

“I suppose,” Castiel shrugged. “I also think of, I don’t know, people- who the song is trying to represent. What those people are doing.”

“Do you see people as songs?”

Castiel looked at him and rolled his eyes.

“Yeah I know how that sounds. Corny as hell. But, I mean, do you?”

Castiel took a moment to consider it. He has, all his life, thought of the world in music notes. Some people were high notes- almost to the point of annoyance, like bees buzzing in his head. Some people were low notes, of course, lazy and slumped over on the couch. His mother, he’d say, was somewhere in the middle, because he never could predict what mental state she’d be in when she wakes up in the morning. His older brothers were each different variations of chords, strong ones and funny ones. Gabriel was certainly a chord that was slightly out of tune, and that tinged in his ear, but in a good way sometimes. A way that made it seem intentional. Jimmy was…well, he couldn’t see his twin in notes anymore.

He found himself nodding and agreeing with Dean. “Yes. I guess I do.”

Dean smiled. “So, what song am I?”

“Dean.”

“I’m serious. When you think of me, what pops in your head?”

Castiel shook his head. “A mess of notes.”

“Seriously?”

“A song that’s always moving up and down, from high to low. Unpredictable. Contradicting. It goes back and forth from delicate and heavy.”

Dean stared at him, his eyes wandering over his face, settling on his lips, then back up to his eyes. “Yup this is turning me on.”

Castiel elbowed him hard; they both laughed.

“No, but really? Am I that much of a mess?”

Castiel gave him a leveling look, thinking to himself that he wanted to grab Dean, shake him and say: _No, you idiot. You are everything_ _I want_. Instead, he shook his head.

“But you said-”

“It’s a real song though. Here, look.” Castiel’s left hand went to the keyboard and he instantly dove into a song. It was Scriabin, the same one he was humming the other night, and he remembered the precise moment in his life that he learned it. Michael had just proposed to his wife and Naomi decided to throw a massive dinner party. Castiel had school the next day, and they all had work, but the adults were drinking and smoking into the early morning like it was one of Gatsby’s extravagant parties. Castiel was nearly falling asleep, but they made him keep playing whatever piano books he had around. Castiel is ambidextrous, so they had a few books that were of songs you only need your left hand to play. Despite his brother’s support, simply for the entertainment value of his playing, that was the week that Chuck snapped at him. He was getting angry at him for playing so much, and that night was certainly the last straw. He didn’t know why Chuck hated his playing so much. But, when Castiel got home from a sleepy day of school the next day, the piano had vanished, and a soft and untouched part of the carpet had replaced it. Chuck dictated the family, and he didn’t care what they wanted. It was clear to Castiel then.

This was one of the last songs he played on that piano- if not the very last. He learned it that night, the drunkenness of the party allowing him to get away with mistakes from practicing. He played it excruciatingly slow and jarringly amateur. But he mastered it. So many songs he knew by heart, and this one he’d never forget.

It was certainly a strange song, that caught you off guard. Just when you think it’ll go down, it goes up, and when you think it’ll go up, it goes down. After the first grouping of notes, it slams into a forte, then mellows down. It was hard for Castiel to resist the urge to use his right hand, and to just let it sit in his lap.

For some reason, it did make him think of Dean. The way Dean schools himself and keeps him on his toes. The way Dean loved, so fiercely, everyone in his life. The way Dean, at first, seems hardened and crass, but eventually softens under your fingers and gasps when you kiss him slow. The song had a clash of notes in the middle, but by the end you could swear it all made sense.

When he finished the song, he dropped his left hand into his lap and took in a breath before looking over at Dean. Dean looked gorgeous, with his lips shiny and parted, and his eyes fixed steadfast on Castiel. He had an expression that Castiel couldn’t quite read, and it was like looking too closely at something you suspect you’re not supposed to see. Dean leaned forward then, suddenly, and pressed a hard kiss onto Castiel’s lips.

After a moment, Castiel pushed him away and looked back at his surroundings. He realized, after blinding panic, that no one was in the bar. Not a soul. “What…?” he muttered.

“I closed the bar an hour ago,” Dean said with a cocky smile.

“Why?”

“I wanted to be with you. Plus, it’s been goddamn quiet all day. I’m not _that_ much of a romantic.”

Castiel started to laugh, mostly from nerves but also from the ridiculousness of it all. “An hour? And I didn’t notice?”

“Um, yeah no. You were super out of it.”

Castiel looked back at the keys.

Dean asked: “Can I kiss you again?”

Castiel turned back to Dean and didn’t bother answering, because he had already brought his mouth to his. Dean melted into him, and his hand slipped onto his thigh as they sat flush together on the piano bench. Castiel opened his mouth and let him in, and Dean kissed him helplessly, fiercely, like he does so many things in life. It burned warm and slow between them, their noses brushing, their teeth bumping. It wasn’t perfect, but it was Dean.

Castiel’s hands went up to cup Dean’s face, and Dean kissed him like the song- gentle, then hungry and Castiel wanted to pull back and ask, in his dizzy state of pleasure, _are you doing that on purpose? Please don’t stop._

_Don’t stop. Don’t stop._

And Dean didn’t. His lips traveled to his chin, then his jaw and they peppered loosely on his neck. “Dean,” Castiel breathed out and his voice sounded broken up and hoarse. Castiel didn’t know what he wanted to say. Maybe he just wanted to say his name and hear it in his own voice as Dean showered him with kisses. Maybe it made it real. Dean just hummed and kissed him firmly again, his hand ran from one of his thighs to the other, then snaked up his waist and pulled him closer. He heard rather than saw Dean close the fallboard awkwardly between them, then slide his hand up his chest and curl his fist into his shirt.

“Cas-” he said, in a pleading voice. “I…Can we?”

Castiel pushed his hand through Dean’s hair and pulled him to his lips. He held him there, warm and secure, then pulled back. Both of them were breathing ragged and staring like the other was going to disappear.

Dean then abruptly got up from the bench and took Castiel with him, his hands still tight on his shirt.

“Dean?” Castiel said, barely audible.

“Just follow me.” Dean let go of his shirt then looked around the bar briefly, like he was checking his bases. “Come on.”

Castiel bit his lip and got up from the bench as well, then stepped down from the stage. Dean stepped forward, held his face, and drew him in again. Castiel leaned into him, his hands involuntarily falling to Dean’s hips, and he kissed him hard. He pulled out a moan from Dean, and he could feel it vibrate on their lips. Dean guided him backwards. They almost stumbled on the leg of a table, but Dean caught himself and with a laugh, pulled Castiel back into a kiss. They walked past the bar, their lips refusing to part, and then Dean’s back was against the door of the back room.

Dean flattened a hand on Castiel’s chest to push him away, just an inch, then he looked behind him and opened the door. He spun around the door and pulled Castiel inside by his shirt. Castiel grabbed the doorknob and closed it behind him.

It was a rather small room, more like a closet, with a whole wall of shelves stocked with booze, and a couple empty cubbies for employees to put their belongings. There was a small, amber lightbulb that hung from the ceiling, illuminating the room in a dreamy gold. Castiel had never been in there before, but he didn’t care to become familiar with it before Dean was pulling him in and all his mind could process were the noises they were making and, god, Dean felt so good.

Dean pushed him lightly against the back of the closet door, and his lips found his. They kissed slow and loose; the sounds of their lips parting drove Castiel crazy and he already felt himself getting hard. He wanted Dean more than he could even think, and his hands went everywhere- over the muscles of his arms, over the tightness of his shoulder blades. His fingers splayed over the bolt of his jaw and down his neck; over his collar bones and then smoothed over his chest. He brushed over his nipples through his shirt and Dean gasped into his mouth. Castiel worked that for a bit, playing Dean like an instrument, running his hands over places he knew would draw out a reaction.

He was so focused that he hadn’t noticed Dean had been playing him as well. His hands gripped so tight on his hip bones that it almost ached, and his thumbs were drawing circles. He pushed his body closer, grinding roughly against him, and it took everything in Castiel’s power not to hitch his hips forward and push against Dean, who was as hard as he was, with as much force as he wanted to send pleasure sparking through him. Desperately slow, Dean’s hands moved closer to Castiel’s cock, tight against the zipper of his pants.

He questioned, for a moment, why he was holding back, and before Dean could touch him, Castiel gave in. He grinded against Dean, and when their cocks brushed together, they both gasped out.

Dean bit Castiel’s lower lip then pulled away, just a bit, and shoved his hand between them. He ran his hand up Castiel’s cock, trapped in his pants. Castiel panted against Dean’s jaw as Dean felt the length of him, his hands moving up and down too slow but with enough pressure that it sent his head spinning. He had to bite his lip to not say _please._

Dean kissed him again rough and messy. Then, without hesitation, he found the button to his trousers, and flicked it open with his thumb and index finger. Castiel’s mind went nearly blank, only filled with the sensation of his body tensing then relaxing over and over, not knowing what to do with itself.

Dean pushed his zipper down, and then, as if Castiel could handle more, he sunk to his knees before him. Castiel clapped his hand over his mouth as to not moan out in surprise. No one has ever done this to him before, and it was only in the remnants of fuzzy dreams that he’d desire it. But here he was, and Dean was on his knees.

His hands instantly went to Dean’s hair as Dean pulled his cock out of his underwear and then held it tightly in his palm. Castiel, at first, couldn’t look, because if he did, this wouldn’t last long. When he gave in, and glanced down, he was met with Dean’s eyes, dark and laced with lust. He tried to look up again, but he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away as Dean licked the tip of his cock, just once, to see what it was like. Castiel tightened his hands in his hair, making Dean breath in sharply. Then, he tucked his thumb under Castiel’s cock, feeling all the way from the base to under the head. His tongue followed, making Castiel’s knees almost buckle, then he took all of him in.

Castiel couldn’t stop himself, he pulled one hand up and moaned out into his palm, then gave up and pulled it away from his face, letting himself be loud. He didn’t know what to do with his body, and it felt like he was catching fire. Dean’s mouth was soft and warm and tight and Castiel shuttered each time he pulled out then sucked him back in slow and torturous. Dean tightened his lips into a ring, he painted along his cock with his tongue, and he sucked hard with hallowed cheeks. The head of his cock kept hitting the back of Dean’s throat and he’d swallow around it, the pressure growing. He was experimenting, seeing what made Castiel crumble the most, bobbing his head. Castiel felt like he was just one step behind, his pleasure burning and trying to keep up. 

It all came barreling in at once, and as his grip tightened in Dean’s hair, Dean’s hands went up his thighs, brushed his stomach, then cupped around his waist. Castiel wanted to tell him to pull away, wanted to tell him he was coming to the edge, but he couldn’t get the words out. His was breathing heavy and loud, and then it was there, he was spilling over. He felt himself unconsciously pushing at Dean’s forehead, to get him to pull away, but Dean’s hands moved quickly behind him, one on the small of his back and one on his hip bone. He held him there, his cock in his mouth, as he swallowed him down.

Castiel came down from his high and when he pulled away, Dean wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and looked up at Castiel, his eyes dark.

Castiel knocked his head back against the door, trying to catch his breath. Dean stood up and reached for Castiel’s pants. He fixed him up, tucking him back into his underwear then zipping up his pants and clasping the button back in place.

Castiel, in a hazy half-thought, fumbled forward and smoothed a hand over Dean’s cock, which seemed painfully hard inside his pants. Dean wrapped his hand gently around his wrist. “Later,” he said.

“But I-”

“It’s okay,” Dean said. Then, without warning, clicked open the door behind him and Castiel almost lost his balance.

Brighter, sharper light from the bar bled into the closet, and it was like the illusion had ended. Castiel stepped aside as Dean pushed the door open further, then stepped out into the bar. Castiel watched him go, his shoulders rolling smoothly, his pants tight on his ass.

Dean went behind the bar and straightened up some things, picked up a glass and started cleaning it. He wiped the back of his hand on his mouth again, like an afterthought, and anyone looking on would just think it was a nervous tick of some sort.

Castiel took a few shaky steps over to the bar, then sat down on a stool, feeling like he couldn’t stand any longer.

“Did you get all your tips?” Dean asked.

Castiel looked up at him and he was all business, and it was as if they’d just met, not like this man just had his dick in his mouth.

It took a moment to register what he said, but then Castiel nodded. Another moment, then: “Wait, no. I haven’t. I’ll…” he tapered out and then glided off the stool and across to the stage. He bent down and snatched up the hat, where he saw a wad of cash inside. He pocketed it.

“It’s almost five, by the way,” Dean said.

Castiel scratched his head. “Wow. I’ve been here that long?”

“Well you zone out when you play.”

“And when…” Castiel said and he caught Dean’s eye.

Dean raised an eyebrow like an asshole. “So it was that good, huh?”

Castiel just looked at him. He went still. Dean’s hair was ruffled up from when Castiel pulled at it, and his lips were pink and swollen. He looked ravaged, and Castiel wanted more.

He ignored the time, and his obligations and everything else. He stood from the bar stool, gripped the edge of it for stability, then with four long strides, he circled around the bar. Dean looked at him, his eyebrows high. Castiel cupped a hand on the back of Dean’s neck and pulled him down into a kiss. Dean’s breath came out surprised, but he pushed hard against Castiel.

“I know you’re hard,” Castiel mumbled against his lips.

“I- I,” Dean’s voice broke, he gave him rushed kisses. “I- am, but-”

“I want-,” Castiel began to say, but he didn’t know what he wanted. He could do anything to Dean, anything he could think of. Here he was, hard for him. Unceremoniously, he pushed his free hand against Dean’s cock in his pants, feeling the length of it. Dean’s breath hitched and he bucked forward into his palm.

“I want you,” Dean breathed out against his lips. “Fuck,” Dean said.

He tried to turn his back on it, tried to make Castiel feel amazing then turn away. He kissed Dean hard, opening his mouth with his tongue, feeling the inside of his mouth. Dean pushed him backwards and grabbed onto the bar with both hands, bracketing him between his arms. The small of Castiel’s back hit the bar behind him. He moved his hand harder, up and down Dean’s cock, and twirled his fingers tighter into the hair on the back of Dean’s head. Dean moaned into his mouth.

Finally, Castiel moved his fingers up and started to unbutton Dean’s jeans. He popped the button open with his thumb, then pushed the zipper down with his pointer finger. He pushed his hand in and closed his hand around Dean’s cock. Dean instantly bucked forward, biting his lower lip, breath caught in his chest. Castiel moved his other hand down from Dean’s hair and onto his chest. He wanted to feel the way Dean breathed, air filling his chest, faltering, ripping out jagged.

Castiel started to pump his hand, his grip tightening. He moved his thumb under the head of Dean’s cock, pushing and smoothing over it. He moved his hand up and down, tightening his grip as he pushed up. Dean opened his mouth against the edge of Castiel’s lips, breathing heavy. He pressed their foreheads together, knitting their breaths between them. Castiel moved and kissed his jawline, his cheekbone.

Dean pushed closer against him, aligning their hips, pushing their bodies together from chest to knees. The angle was hard, but Castiel adjusted his grip and Dean gasped against his cheek. He jacked him hard.

Castiel moved his hand up from Dean’s chest and held his chin between his finger and thumb. He kissed him, open mouthed, lazy. Dean was unraveling, and Castiel caught his eyes. They were blown out, still so green. He kissed him gently, the kisses fluttering, mindless. All intensity was elsewhere.

Castiel realized that they were out in the middle of the bar, where anyone could see them. But the bar was closed, and nobody could see them through the one small window on the front door. Charlie and Garth were the only ones who held keys, and they were busy elsewhere in the city. Castiel relaxed against Dean’s chest, letting Dean pin him completely against the bar. Dean hadn’t moved his hands from where he gripped the edge of the bar.

All the secrecy of Dean pushing Castiel into the back room to kiss him and take him into his mouth was moot. Castiel wanted it wide open. He didn’t fear it. He didn’t think Dean feared it, but he coaxed him with his hands, with his lips. They could be out in the open like this, even if there was no risk of getting caught. Castiel couldn’t think straight, contemplating how impossibly hot it was to have Dean like this in the middle of the bar he owned.

Castiel held the back of Dean’s neck and kissed him deeply, licking slowly into his mouth, catching Dean’s tongue, his teeth. Dean moaned.

Then, after his grip tightened even more around Dean’s cock, and he pumped him a few more times, his thumb bumping hard against a spot under the head, Dean slackened ever more. He pressed his face closer against Castiel’s, aligning their noses. Castiel surged up and kissed him hard, then Dean came.

Dean’s breath came out ragged, and he slipped his forehead down to Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel could feel Dean’s smile against his neck. “Well that’s a first.”

Castiel pulled back and looked into Dean’s eyes. They looked blissful. “What?”

“Sex behind the bar. Well, sex anywhere in this place.”

“Really?” Somehow, Castiel didn’t believe him.

Dean kissed Castiel’s cheekbone, then pulled back a bit to look at him better. “This is a professional place,” Dean said, a cheeky smirk on his face. Castiel rolled his eyes. “But, damn,” Dean leaned forward and captured Castiel’s lips quickly. “You are a very worthwhile exception to that rule.”

Castiel pulled his hand out of the front of Dean’s pants. Dean looked down at his hand, gave it a skewed-up look, then reached over and grabbed a paper towel. Castiel carefully wiped his hand while Dean zipped himself up.

“You’re actually the exception to a lot of my rules,” Dean began. “Playing piano in the daytime for example, um working behind the bar even though you’re not an employee, having a kid in here, coming with me to visit Bobby…”

Castiel looked up at Dean. They were still so close, there was no reason to step away. No one could see. They had the whole world to themselves. Dean leaned over and kissed him, solid and warm.

“People have called me a rule breaker before,” Castiel muttered against his lips.

“But, you know,” Dean said quickly. “I don’t mind it. That’s not all you are…just an exception, I mean. You’re- I-”

“I understand,” Castiel supplied. Dean relaxed.

“You better go,” Dean switched back to all-business. “For Claire, I mean.”

“Right.”

He’d have to pick up Claire and figure out something for dinner. All the while feeling like life was a dream sequence and wanting nothing more than to kiss Dean again.

Reality had to come back, and when it did, so did his grief. Picking up Claire meant a silent dinner, then hearing her cries during the night, then an attempt to comfort her that always felt fruitless.

Castiel didn’t know how to leave. He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay in Dean’s orbit, stay near his arms and his shoulders and his smile.

But he circled around the bar again, grabbed anything he left by the piano, and started to head towards the door. He could feel Dean’s eyes on him.

“Wait,” Dean called out. “Shit. I forgot to ask you something.”

The excuse to stay longer, if only for a minute, sent Castiel’s heart racing.

“I was wondering if- uh- Jody is having a Fourth of July party. It’s always a fucking riot. She has fireworks and burgers and beer, and she practically invites her whole town. Sam and Jess are gonna be there. And…I’d like it if you and Claire come by. You can stay over and everything. She has a cabin and there’s plenty of room.”

Castiel felt like he was soaring through the clouds. “Of course. Dean, that sounds amazing.”

A shy smile spread on Dean’s face, “Well it’s another rule broken, then.”

Castiel reflected his smile and fumbled with the door to the bar. He realized it was locked; he gave Dean a painfully awkward smile, then he unlocked it and left. He wanted to take one last look at Dean, who he was certainly falling head over heels for. But he played it cool.

He walked on home, trying to think of what to make for dinner, but really reliving the afternoon over and over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come be nice to me (please) on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/green-eyes-and-classic-rock)


	9. Intermezzo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a short light entr'acte, a pause

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello wonderful people- warnings for some stuff about racism and homophobia in this chapter. You can skip the whole first section labeled "Andante" if you want. It's just an small but honest conversation about racism in 1950s NYC. I didn't want to not mention it.

“I want you as intermezzo… I want you as both, or as in between.”

\- André Aciman

**Andante**

July came in hot and merciless. The streets steamed in the hot sun, and the familiar smell of melting rubber drifted through the city like it did every year.

Almost every night, in the week preceding Jody’s Fourth of July party, Castiel had dinner with Kelly and Missouri.

Their kids were becoming a little unit, and although other kids from Missouri’s daycare would be invited sometimes for playdates, it was always the four- Claire, Jack, Bel and Patience- that stuck together. Soon into their tight friendship, Kaia started coming into the mix, and before Kelly, Missouri and Castiel could keep up, there were five little kids running around their feet.

Castiel had been teaching Jack how to write cursive, as Jack was finding it very fun to draw and write. Castiel sensed he had some artistic talent in him, and he spoke with such fervent interest in art that Castiel sometimes sat and listened to him talk for hours. Jack would have little tics sometimes. Kelly called them dances. But they weren’t dances at all. Jack would rock back and forth on the carpet and Claire would kick him to try and stop him. When he banged his head on the edge of Castiel’s couch one afternoon, Kelly scooped him up in her lap, but he squirmed out of her reach and ran to the corner of the room. Kelly was hoping it wouldn’t happen again, but Castiel wasn’t so sure.

Bel was mostly quiet, as he’d just sit and listen and laugh to whatever anyone was saying. Sometimes, he’d yell and get greedy- feeling around on the carpet for all the toys then caging them in his arms. Patience was the kindest to him, and when he’d get that way, she’d sit down next to him and read to him.

Neither Castiel, Kelly, nor Missouri had a television, and it was a virtue. The kids loved to read books more than anything.

One evening, a while after dinner, Kelly was out attending a political science night class and Missouri and Castiel were left alone in Missouri’s apartment. Patience was braiding Claire’s hair, Kaia was resting her head on her lap, and Jack was tracing his brother’s hands with crayon. The kids were all cuddled up in a pillow fort that Castiel helped them make. Missouri was sitting at the kitchen table and scribbling through a crossword puzzle. Castiel always had a firm grasp on words, but not like he was seeing with Missouri. She sped through each puzzle in the daily newspaper, then completed ones from days ago. After sitting with her in silence for a while, he found himself getting fixated on the way her fingers clasped the pencil, and the way her calm expression casted down on the newspaper.

“You know what I’m beginning to like about you, Castiel?” Missouri said, her eyes not meeting his.

Castiel shrugged. “What?”

“You’re quiet. I like quiet people. These days, all the kids your age yap on and on about whatever music they like or whatever poems they’re writing. You’re humble. I like that.”

“Humble?” Castiel said in disbelief. “I guess so. But I don’t know if I’m very humble if I play piano for tips. It’s practically begging for attention.”

“You play across the park, right? Campbell’s?”

Castiel nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! Have you been?”

“No,” she said. “A couple of the parents at my daycare have though, you know, the ones your age.”

“I like it there.”

“Is that where you go? On all those nights when Claire goes to Kaia’s or Kelly’s and you’re stumbling back into your apartment in the middle of the night?”

Castiel sensed a tension between them. It had grown quiet in the kitchen where they were sitting, and the kids were hushed in their pillow fort, no doubt getting sleepy.

He didn’t want Missouri to think of him as an unsuitable parent. For some reason, that was one of his worst fears. He knew he was trying his best. He treads lightly. “I help out the owner when he has busy nights, yes.”

Missouri gave him a sobering look. “The owner- his name is Dean, right? I’ve heard you mention him.” Castiel nodded. Then, without hesitation, Missouri continued. “You grew up in Manhattan, right?”

Castiel didn’t know where this was going. “I did.”

“You know what it’s like here?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…the liberals, the progressive folks. It’s all bull crap you know?” Missouri said. Castiel blinked at her profanity. She continued. “People in the north are just as bad as people in the south. There is still hate everywhere- in the way people stare; the way people talk. New York may be for the young and intelligent, but I’ve seen first-hand that they hate people who are different- people who they don’t understand…”

“Missouri-”

“I saw you with Dean the other night. Walls in this building are thin. You need to be more careful.”

Something heavy dropped in Castiel’s stomach. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, don’t get all defensive with me. I’m on your side. I’m just saying, people like you can face jail time, you know. I knew a man once, an artist, and he was a good friend of mine. He got six months in prison when someone spotted him with a man. Now, I’ve lived in this city for a long time. I’ve met all kinds of people- great people who hide and live in fear. I know northerners may seem nice, but they aren’t. Hate is a toxic thing, and people have so much of it. All I’m saying is- be careful. Your little girl needs you.”

Castiel took a moment to let it sink in. Missouri didn’t have to care for him the way that she did, in fact, no one did. His heart twisted when he looked at her.

“Does Kelly know?”

Missouri took a moment, then shook her head. “No,” she said. “I don’t think she does.”

“I may not say it often, but I am very grateful for everything you two have done for me.”

Missouri kept scribbling on the crossword puzzle and didn’t look up at him. “I’ve known Kelly since she was so pregnant that she was practically rolling around like a bowling ball.” Castiel laughed softly.

“That woman is the best friend I’ve ever had. When I’m down, she’s there, and when she’s down- oh boy- I’m there. And it’s been tough…My son lives in the south and sends me his wages- god bless him- and I want Patience to have the best life she could have. My husband passed a long time ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Castiel supplied, mystified that she was sharing such personal details with him.

“Kelly has been a godsent,” Missouri continued. “And she’s had her hardships too. The twins’ father was never in the picture. He left the moment Kelly found out she was expecting.”

Castiel felt weird and dizzy, and the room was too hot. “It’s weird. When I met her boys, I felt like I knew them.”

Missouri looked up and stared at him. “Don’t say crazy things like that,” she snapped. But there was something strange in her look that Castiel couldn’t quite place.

Castiel watched her, her intense gaze fixed on the crossword puzzle. “I find that I don’t take new friends lightly,” she said, guarded. “I need to know the people around me won’t hurt those I love.”

Castiel felt like his throat closed up. He cleared it. “Of course…I would never.”

Missouri gave him a peculiar look, like she was peaking through curtains. “Alright,” she resigned, then looked down at her puzzle.

Castiel shut up then, and after a little bit got up and went to peek inside the kids’ pillow fort. They were all asleep in a pile.

Kelly came back soon after that, and Castiel had to gently pull Claire out of the napping pile like an archeologist. He carried her back to their apartment and tucked her into bed.

**Ain’t That A Shame**

Like a mailman delivering a heavily anticipated letter from a lover during a Friday morning mail route, Dean showed up at Castiel’s apartment with a sunny smile, a small duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and two cups of coffee.

“Mornin’ sunshine!” Dean said and pushed a cup into Castiel’s hand.

Castiel almost spilled it in surprise as Dean walked past him into his apartment. Claire was standing in the kitchen, quickly eating a peanut butter and jelly Castiel had made her, and Dean came up behind her and scooped her up in his arms. Claire started laughing as Dean bit off a corner of her sandwich.

“Are you guys ready to go?” Dean called to Castiel.

Castiel closed the front door with his foot and took a long sip of too-hot coffee. “Yes, I believe so.” He just had to zip up his backpack.

“We’re meeting Sam and Jess at Penn Station. I have extra room in my bag if you need it.”

Claire was the one who responded to that. She jolting towards her room and grabbed a pile of Bobby’s books that she needed to return, as well as toys and a stuffed animal to sleep with. She came up to Dean and held her things out for him to take and shove in his bag.

They were ready then, after Castiel quickly made Dean and himself peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. The two of them ate the sandwiches on their way to the station. Claire held both of their hands this time as they walked through the streets, which prompted extremely weird looks. But Claire looked so happy swinging back and forth on their arms that after a while they didn’t care. They assumed the public thought they were brothers, or in-laws taking a daughter out for a stroll. Their wives were back at home.

They met Sam and Jess at the station. Jess was in this beautiful floral dress that brushed her knees, and Sam had his arm around her waist with such an unabashed smile that it made Castiel’s heart ache. They got on a train with excitement in their steps, and Claire sat down on her feet to see out the window.

Dean splayed out his legs, his feet falling between Castiel’s. He tapped along to some song in his head, and Castiel just stared down at their only axis of contact, feeling so incredibly like Dean was his person. Like Dean was thinking about him all the while chatting with his brother, who hadn’t even noticed their ankles linked together.

The train rolled in around noon. It had all felt like a dream- the heat radiating off the windows of the train, the sun shining in like a magnifying glass, Bobby waiting for them at the station with his pickup truck. It was all so perfect, so manicured, so out of his head.

Jody and several other people were at the house already, eating a buffet of food that was out on the table. Bobby must have cleaned the kitchen, but the stacks of book in the living room were entirely untouched. A song by Fats Domino was playing on a turntable among all the platters of food.

Jody came over to with a big smile and took their bags for them. She disappeared out the back door and went across the field to a cabin that was barely visible past the trees.

Castiel didn’t recognize most of the people there besides the girls from Jody’s riding school, and the blonde instructor, who shook his hand and said her name was Donna. The house was crowded with people who seemed so far removed from city folk. They had dirt on their pants and wrinkles in their dresses. A party like this in his parent’s apartment would be decked out with fancy people, fancy dresses and maybe even some caviar.

Castiel held Claire’s hand tightly. She was his only anchor. Well, her, and Dean who stood slightly in front of him, greeting people and looking like he belonged. Castiel felt so unfamiliarly happy, so loved by all these people who he didn’t know. It was as if everyone in this room made up a family who loved unconditionally. He felt like his threshold had been met.

Dean looped an arm over his shoulders, which sent alarm bells echoing in his head, but they faded away when Dean had a joyful smile on his face, and he led him outside to the beginnings of what was a barbecue set up.

“Later we’re gonna have a massive dinner- burgers and hot dogs and everything,” Dean said, as they saw more people flitting about in sun dresses and slacks.

Dean began to introduce some people to Castiel and Claire. Castiel was astounded by how many people Dean was friends with. There were families who lived around the area, farmers, a man named Victor Henriksen who had two little daughters. Twins. Of course. Castiel couldn’t escape the reminder.

The party began to congregate down the hill into Jody’s farm, where there were all kinds of games set up. Cornhole and a net set up for badminton, and Jody even sectioned off a part of the ring for pony rides. It was like a festival, or what Castiel had read about festivals out in the country.

A group of young kids around Claire’s age and a bit older gathered by an outdoor area for crafts and painting, and Claire yanked on Castiel’s hand to beg him to let her go. He let go and she instantly ran over to greet all the kids.

Him and Dean met up with Sam and Jess and went to go sit at a picnic table among people their age.

Dean sat close to him, and it was like the same thing on the train coming in. They were touching, and Dean was speaking to everyone at the table. In fact, he was the life of the party, and everyone was laughing at his jokes. Yet there he was, their thighs touching, and Castiel had ownership over a small private part of Dean that they only shared, that could only be seen from under the table.

Dean was telling hilarious stories about Campbell’s, or tales of when him and Benny were around each other every day. One guy- Victor- was particularly interested in Dean and asked him the most questions. Castiel found himself getting strangely jealous. Although no man would openly flirt with Dean in front of everyone, it seemed like Victor was trying to flirt as much as he could get away with. Victor gave Dean his undivided attention, and Dean smiled a cheeky smile that he gave customers, one that Castiel was beginning to think was fake all along.

There was a small group of guys that Castiel didn’t recognize, who were playing guitar in the middle of the farm. Donna was singing and projecting herself as loud of she could as couples were dancing in front of her. She sang a song by Frank Sinatra, one that Dean had once told him he didn’t like very much, but he cheered Donna on regardless. Sam and Jess stood up from the picnic table and joined the group of couples. The song required the dancers to have some energy, pick up their feet, but they were still holding each other close. Even Victor found a dance partner, some petite girl with a hat on her head, and Dean and Castiel were left alone at the picnic table.

Dean’s hands were on the table, but after a minute or two he dropped one and found Castiel’s hand. Their fingers laced together tightly underneath the table, on top of Castiel’s thigh. Castiel wasn’t sure if anyone could see, but Dean seemed confident enough that he didn’t care. Dean’s thumb traced along his, and Castiel instant relaxed and breathed out a sigh.

The sun was sinking into a deep orange sunset, and it all was too much. The laugher of the children, Donna’s singing, the couples talking and their feet shuffling against the dirt, Dean’s hand wrapped tightly around his. It was surreal.

The smell of the barbecue started drifting through the air and Dean made a show of groaning and going slack on the table when he smelled the first round of burgers Jody was making. “I gotta get me one of those- immediately,” Dean said, then let go of Castiel’s hand and sprung up from the picnic table. Castiel would have felt saddened by the loss of Dean’s hand entangled tightly within his, but it was too funny seeing Dean bounce about towards the grill.

He looked over at Claire and saw her smiling among the kids.

Castiel felt like he didn’t deserve this.

Dean came back with two burgers on plates, and he dug in hungerly the moment he sat down next to Castiel. “Damn Jody makes incredible food.”

Castiel looked at Dean for a moment, hoping he didn’t choke, and otherwise wondering how he was falling so hard for this man that was shoving far too much food in his mouth. He looked up at Castiel while he ate, his cheeks ballooned up like a chipmunk. When he smiled, his mouth was closed but ridiculous and stretched wide. Castiel couldn’t help but laugh.

“What?” Dean said with food in his mouth.

Castiel just shook his head and dug into his own burger, which was practically holy. When he swallowed, and went to bite in again, he saw Dean looking at him.

“I wish I could kiss you,” Dean whispered, and Castiel could barely hear it over the singing. He was reading his lips.

 _Me too_ he mouthed. They both bit into their burgers again.

A few more songs were played until the band took a break to have their own plates of food. Claire came and sat down next to Castiel to eat. Castiel had to go get her a cushion from Bobby’s house in order for her to reach the table. An entirely different group of adults were sitting with him and Dean now, and they were exchanging pleasant stories about their jobs or summer vacation plans. Several times they complimented Castiel for his daughter being so mature for her age, and when Castiel corrected them and told them she was his niece, no one said a word.

Jody came around and informed them all that fireworks were soon.

“Fireworks?” Castiel asked Dean.

“You really thought a Fourth of July party was complete without fireworks?”

When Jody told them all to gather in the field beyond the woods, the same field where he had his first kiss with Dean, he caught Dean’s eye and Dean winked at him. “Good place for _fireworks_ , huh?” Castiel rolled his eyes.

It was one of the most beautiful things Castiel had ever seen. The sunset was turning into a deep red that darkened the sky, and Jody and Donna were going around handing out torches to people. Dean grabbed one and held it above his head like an Olympic champion. Victor got one, Sam got one and him and Jess held it together, and Bobby got one.

Claire grabbed his hand and seemed to look as absolutely enchanted with the scene as much as he probably did. Her eyes were wide, and he could see the fire reflected within them, burning slowly.

Then, everyone started to walk the path through the woods. He followed closely behind Dean and watched the flame lick through the air, the way the fire softly illuminated the side of his face, and made his hair look amber. He couldn’t look away.

They all walked in a line through the woods like phantoms in the night, or like witches off to worship the moon. It seemed like something Castiel was never meant to witness, and his lungs took in the fresh warm air of the late evening feeling just as scandalized. They were used to air that tasted of exhaust and subway steam.

Claire kept stumbling on branches below her, so Castiel bent down and let her climb onto his back for a piggyback ride. Dean turned around and gave him a smile that was illuminated by the torch he held. Castiel wanted to kiss him.

**The Well-Tempered Clavier**

Before long, they made it to the field. Jody and Donna came up behind the group with a box of fireworks in each hand. They set up in the center of the field, and everyone stepped back to give them space.

They all held their breath as the first firework was unleashed into the air. It exploded into a fury of colors- red, orange, blue flame. Everyone cheered and some sat down in the grass and looked up into the sky with wonder.

Claire kept tapping Castiel on the shoulder and so carefully, he readjusted and hoisted Claire on his shoulders. He held her ankles and she clasped her hands on his forehead.

Dean stood beside him, still holding his torch. Sam came up next to him and bumped his shoulder. They shared a smile that seemed hidden and personal. Like if anyone saw them, the brothers would be embarrassed at how much their smiles conveyed. Castiel couldn’t look away, as he loved seeing them happy. Their smile looked loaded, like they’ve been through a lot.

Sam ran over to Jess and gave her a big kiss as the fireworks fell around them. Dean watched for a moment, his shoulders high and proud, then he turned to Castiel. He leaned in close, his cheek against Castiel’s and his lips brushing his ear. He whispered, “Sam and I used to do the firework thing every Fourth of July. We once burned down this entire field in Lawrence.” Dean pulled back a bit and placed the most discrete kiss on Castiel’s cheek. Claire most definitely saw it, but neither of them cared.

“You love your brother,” Castiel said loudly as Dean leaned away.

Dean shrugged, but his smile betrayed him “He’s a pain in the ass.” Dean poked him with his elbow, then walked off to go stand with Jody and Donna. He squeezed between them and slung his arms over their shoulders.

Claire dropped her hands to Castiel’s chin then leaned down and whispered into his ear, “I think Dean has a crush on you.”

Castiel instantly smiled like an idiot. Claire was so young, too young to realize that it was usually frowned upon for Castiel to feel the way he does for Dean. Children were always the ones who were the most accepting, the most loving. It made him happy that she was going to grow up and be a kind person. His chest filled with pride.

He didn’t say anything, he just reached up and mussed up her hair. Claire giggled and wrapped her arms around his forehead.

They watched another firework go off and explode in the air, sending whistles through the sky, and the whole group of people cheered. Castiel looked over to see Dean was watching him, a soft smile on his face.

He was so unbelievably happy. But the happiness felt misplaced. It seemed like it was meant for a time far into the future when he’s healed over from the grief Maybe then he would feel as though he deserved this night. The lights, the laughter, the smiling face, Dean, everything. He realized how much he loved Claire, but she wasn’t even his daughter, and this could easily not be his life. It might as well have been Jimmy’s, and he felt like he was stealing his happiness. Like his brother died so he could feel this way. He tried to ignore it, tried to smile, but for all he knew he could be floating in space. He felt so unreal and tied to nothing, besides maybe the girl on his shoulders, and the gaze Dean was casting his way. Dean’s expression was unreadable, but it was steady on Castiel.

Another firework went off, and then the sky turned a milky gray from the remnants of smoke. Everyone cheered one final time, and then the field was practically silenced as everyone took in the sight of the dulled stars, like they were staring through a cloud.

A calm chatter filled the field as people began to pack up. Jody had to relight some of the torches so they could make their way back to the barn. Dean came over next to him to accompany him and Claire back through the woods.

Many of the guests only lived a couple miles away, so when they all arrived back at the farm, they said their goodbyes. Victor hugged Dean a little too intimately, with a hand sliding down his lower back. Dean pulled away and patted him on the shoulder.

Alex and a small group of girls from the riding school were sleeping over. Dean told him that Jody had adopted Alex last year because she had an abusive family. It was a lot to take in, but he saw Alex smile and hug Jody, which made him feel like he and Jody were in the same boat. They were helping kids they loved and picking up the pieces in their lives.

Alex put Claire under her wing and Claire asked him relentlessly if he would let her camp in the big indoor arena with the girls. They had tents set up with blankets and everything. Castiel said she could go as long as she went to bed soon. Claire jumped up excitedly and followed the girls to the arena.

Then the adults were left to themselves, sitting around a picnic table under the dying sunlight. Bobby sat down, and Sam and Jessica hovered by the table. Mischievously, Jody and Donna waltzed to Jody’s office, and returned with a huge bottle of wine and a crate of beers. The group all cheered. In Jody’s other hand, she had a tub of ice cream, and she set it down on the picnic table. It felt like a secret desert that only the adults could have. “It’s getting cold so drink up and you won’t feel it!” Donna said.

Jessica and Sam were underage, but Jody just smiled at them and handed them beers. Donna passed out the rest, and Dean gratefully took two, then handed one to Castiel.

Jody was holding the bottle of wine in one hand, and in her other hand, glasses were shoved between her fingers. Castiel watched them, staring at the shiny glass, the long stems, the way the light bounced off them. Jody went to set the glasses on the table, but she must have stumbled on a root on the ground, and one glass was set free through the air. It came crashing down on the picnic table. Broken glass went everywhere and skidded with a shrill noise across the wood. “Shit,” Jody said.

The group watched the glass settle, and then just gazed at the broken shards. “I’ll go get a towel,” Bobby said, and he retreated to his house.

“I’m sorry,” Jody said. “One glass short.”

“I’m good with beer, Jody,” Dean supplied, and leaned forward to start and gather up the larger pieces of glass.

“Be careful dude,” Sam said, the rim of his beer bottle to his lips. Dean slowed his hands, only picking up pieces of glass that were big enough not to slip from his hands. He lifted his shirt, folded it over itself as if it was a bag, and placed the pieces of glass carefully onto the fabric. 

Bobby came back with towels. Instinctually, Castiel reached out for one and Bobby draped one into his arms. Dean grabbed one too, and moved the glass from his shirt to the towel bundle.

Castiel leaned forward and started brushing the towel over the table. As he pulled it towards him, the fabric caught on something on the table and his hand skidded against a shard of glass, sticking up. The pain instantly smarted, and he could feel wetness on his hand. He pressed his lips together and ignored the pain.

Him, Dean and Bobby cleared the table quickly, and soon the incident was forgotten. Castiel settled down on the bench seat beside Dean, ignoring the pain in his palm. He could feel the warm blood stream from his hand and turn cold. He kept his hand under the table, and he held his wrist tight with his uninjured hand, trying to maybe cut the blood flow. His beer sat forgotten before him.

The conversation lightened, and soon people were exchanging pleasant stories. Bobby talked about moving out to New Jersey, the long road trip he had to take from Kansas. He followed Dean and Sam, he said. He hid his fond smile with his beer bottle. Sam talked about school, Jessica talked about her family upstate, and Jody talked about Alex.

Dean sat beside him, uncharacteristically quiet, focusing on whoever was talking. The day was getting incredibly dark, and soon all anyone could see was what the stars outlined. Castiel almost jumped in his seat when he felt Dean’s hand on his wrist. He looked over, and Dean wasn’t looking at him, but he could see his brow furrowed, his eyes narrow and confused. Dean’s fingers met where Castiel squeezed his fist around his wrist, cradling his injured hand. Then, he must have felt the blood.

“I’m getting tired,” Jody said. “So, I think I’m gonna hit the sack. I love you all.”

“I second that,” Bobby said. “You kids are crashing in the guest room, right?” Bobby pointed at Sam and Jessica, who were just a lumped together silhouette of two people. “No shenanigans.”

Castiel heard Sam laugh. “No sir.”

Dean moved his hand away from the blood, and instead placed a firm hand on Castiel’s forearm. “We should hit the hay too,” Dean said, his voice light, but Castiel could tell better than anyone that there was tension in it.

Dean stood up abruptly, before anyone had even moved from the table. He pulled Castiel up with him. “Goodnight,” he said to everyone. Castiel was grateful that he couldn’t see anyone’s faces, or that they couldn’t see his for that matter.

Dean kept a firm grip on Castiel’s arm, and they walked in the direction of Jody’s cabin. Dean hurried in front of him, dragging Castiel along, and Castiel looked at the side of his face. The bridge of his nose, the jut of his browbone, his cheekbone, his lips, were illuminated in yellow moonlight.

When they were about twenty feet from the cabin, Dean turned around abruptly. “What the hell happened? What is this?” He held up Castiel’s hand close to his face, trying to get a good look at it under the moonlight. “Are you okay?”

Castiel held back the urge to rip his hand away. He could take care of himself. But Dean’s firm grip around his wrist, and his warm hand cradling Castiel’s injured one was more comforting than he wanted to admit.

“I’m okay…the glass, I just-”

“You should have told me,” Dean said. “You’re bleeding everywhere. Come on.”

Dean’s grip on his wrist loosened a bit but remained as an anchor for Castiel. They trudged towards Jody’s cabin. It was next to a huge oak tree, and a front porch light shone down on the front door like a beacon. The cabin was humble, with a sagging roof and a brown exterior that was stained by the moisture in the summer air. A ring of garden surrounded it like a moat. Castiel thought for a moment, that he’s dreamed of a house like this. Growing up in the city, these were houses that he thought only existed in fairy tales. He wanted to pinch himself, make sure he wasn't dreaming. At least the injured hand helped in that, to ground him along with Dean's fingers on his wrist. 

**6 Consolations**

They entered the house through a side door, then walked down the creaking stairs to the basement. The basement was small, with two full sized beds flush against the plaster walls. Jody had done some decorative work to make it homey, like adding warm-colored curtains over the small windows near the ceiling, matching the bedspreads, and placing a fuzzy carpet on the ground. She had also already put Dean and Castiel’s bags on each bed, respectively.

Dean released his wrist and disappeared into a small bathroom towards the back of the basement. Castiel stood awkwardly, looking at the room, looking at the beds. Then, he looked down at his hand. It was not as gnarly and deep as he thought it would be, but the glass did slice open the heel of his hand in a jagged uneven line. It was a clean cut though, there were no residual pieces of glass that he could see. Blood covered his hand and was smeared on his wrist.

Instantly, Castiel’s vision went fuzzy. It wasn’t that deep, there wasn’t even that much blood, just enough to drip. But suddenly there was. And suddenly he was looking down at a floral dress covered in blood, his mother’s wrist split, a knife in her hand. There was so much blood, and her hands were stained rouge by it. His hands were stained too. Then he thought of his knuckles, bruised and scraped from when he beat the shit out of Alastair Bennett for picking on Jimmy in their freshman year. He had blood from Alastair’s nose on his hand, twirled into his palm. Why was blood so red? He didn’t remember it so red. Everything had been grey for so long.

Dean returned from the bathroom with paper towels, rubbing alcohol and a first aid kit. Castiel looked up at Dean’s hands but couldn’t lift his eyes to Dean’s face.

“Sit,” Dean said. He tapped Castiel’s elbow gently and led him to the closest bed. Castiel sat on the edge of the mattress and held his hand out in front of him. His vision cleared, and he watched as Dean squatted before him. He let his eyes trail along Dean’s face, his shoulders, his concerned brow. Dean reached out and gingerly held the back of Castiel’s hand. He pouted. “It’s not so bad,” he said. “Might need a few stitches.”

Castiel groaned.

“I’ve stitched people up before,” Dean said. “It’s okay.”

“You have?” Castiel squinted down at him. His hand stung again, just once, like a reminder that it was painful.

Dean nodded. “Back in Kansas. My dad got into a lot of bar fights.”

“Oh,” Castiel said. He watched Dean’s placid face. “I’m sorry…this must really ruin the night.”

“Is that why you didn’t tell me?” Dean finally looked up at him. His eyes were drenched in concern, and it twisted Castiel’s stomach.

Castiel shook his head before he knew his answer. “I just…” He didn’t want to think about it. The blood. The feeling it gave him. It forced him to feel alive. He looked down at his hand and realized that it’ll probably scar, even if it’s just a jagged hairline. He couldn’t help but question if Jimmy was alive would he have the same scar. Would the scar just appear on Jimmy’s hand one day, and during a holiday reunion Castiel would notice. They’d compare their scars, make up excuses for why they had the same one. They’re the same person after all.

Guilt and shame ripped through him. Jimmy wrenched himself away from Castiel long ago. He remembered, one night, when Jimmy came home from the movies, Castiel was sitting on the couch, reading. Jimmy came over to him and said, “Stop fucking following me.”

“What? I’ve been here all night…” Castiel lifted his book for his brother to see.

“That’s not what I fucking mean. I mean stop trying so hard to be like me because you’re not me and I don’t need you to protect me. Jesus Christ, you’re overbearing sometimes. You think I’m so weak. Get your own goddamn life, Castiel.”

Castiel had forgotten that conversation entirely. It was years ago, and Jimmy had apologized. But, Castiel had still buried it. Now it had come rushing back in like the blood pooling in his hand. As he stared, Dean patted his hand with a paper towel, wetted with rubbing alcohol. It stung, and Castiel looked up at his face.

Dean.

Dean was so focused, and full of fury. His eyes looked like fires. He dabbed Castiel’s hand, then pulled out a set of stitches in a metal container. He threaded the needle, tightened the knot with his teeth, dabbed Castiel’s hand again.

Castiel just watched him, his heart aching, and wanting so bad to reach out and thread his fingers through Dean’s hair. He let him focus, and closed his eyes, allowing the pain to wash over him.

Suddenly Dean spoke. “You didn’t ruin anything,” he said. “I...I’m glad you came.”

Castiel opened his eyes and watched Dean work. He was on his third stitch. The needle burned. But Dean’s hands were steady and careful. Finally, Castiel reached out and brushed the hair on Dean’s forehead, ran his fingertips through it. Dean finished off the stitch, tied a close, neat knot, and snipped the line. Then, he wrapped thick bandages around Castiel’s hand. Dean looked up at him, his expression still hard.

Castiel couldn’t look at him with anything but softness. As Dean was finishing wrapping Castiel’s hand, he could see Dean start to settle down, relax his shoulders, breath.

“I broke your rule though,” Castiel murmured. “Which was, what exactly?”

It took a moment for Dean to remember, but when he did, he smiled lightly. “No city friends at Bobby’s…or Jody’s for that matter.”

“Why?” Castiel ventured, his hand buried farther into Dean’s hair.

Dean pulled away and stood. He packed up the first aid kit, keeping the dirty needle separate so he remembers to sterilize it later. He wiped his hands on a paper towel and wouldn’t look up at Castiel. “I um…I just keep it separate.”

Although his mind was clearer than before, Castiel still felt fuzzy. But, he focused hard on Dean, trying to forget the slow pain in his hand, the vision of his mother’s stained dress, Jimmy’s biting words. The past was the past, and right now, Jimmy was gone. Right now, Castiel was just Castiel.

But, he couldn’t help but feel as though he had cursed everyone in his life. That Jimmy died after he dropped out of West Point because for the first time in his life he wanted to be his own person.

He begged himself to be selfish. Because if he wasn’t selfish right now, he’d lose his mind.

Castiel stood, stepping into Dean’s space, his faces inches from Dean’s. Dean didn’t meet his eyes, but he looked at his lips, his neck, his shoulders. Castiel leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together. Their noses brushed against each other’s and Dean breathed out a sigh.

“Thank you,” Castiel whispered. Dean pressed forward and kissed him.

Strangely, it caught him off guard. But, feeling Dean’s lips against him was familiar, like coming home. He breathed into it, lifting his uninjured hand, and clutching the collar of Dean’s t-shirt. He forgot about the pain in his other hand.

Dean reached forward and cupped his hips. He hooked his fingers in Castiel’s beltloops, and pulled him closer, their chests touching. Dean kissed him deeply, opening his mouth, brushing his tongue with his own. Castiel hummed and moved his hand up, cupped his jaw.

Dean broke the kiss and started kissing the line of his jaw, his pulse, his neck. Dean pulled away more and his gaze trailed down his chest, on his shoulders, his lips. Castiel watched him patiently.

Dean grabbed the hem of Castiel’s t-shirt and with a swift movement, pulled it up and over his head. Carefully, he helped Castiel hold up his arm and ease the shirt around his injured hand. Dean threw the shirt onto the ground, then started kissing Castiel’s neck, his collarbones

“Dean…It’s not…I’m not,” Castiel stumbled on his words, not knowing what he wanted to say, but thinking about his severed life from his brother, thinking about the scar he’ll have but that Jimmy won’t have. “I’m not much.”

Dean caught his eyes then and held his gaze. Now, any stern expression had washed away, and he looked soft and pliable. “Shut up,” he said quietly.

Castiel leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Dean’s, just breathing him in. Dean’s hands trailed up and down his back. It was gentle, and Castiel felt shivers down his spine.

Feeling brave, Castiel thread his hand through Dean’s hair. Dean enveloped him into his arms, and then they were pressed together flush from toe to toe. Dean wrapped an arm around his waist and the other across his back, his fingers clasping over his shoulder. Castiel wrapped his arms tightly around Dean’s neck, a hand in his hair, and he buried his face in his shoulder.

Castiel realized he was trembling.

“Are you okay?” Dean said, his voice muffled in his shoulder. He pulled away and looked at him. “Talk to me.”

He wasn’t going to admit it to Dean, but he was nervous. He was nervous that he wasn’t enough or that life was gonna blow up in his face again. But his eyes cast down to Dean’s lips. “I want you,” he whispered.

Dean took a moment, searched his eyes, his face, then he smiled. Dean kissed him soft and slow, and it was painful having to stifle the desire that was growing in Castiel’s chest. He let Dean kiss him, let it be achingly gentle for a moment or two. Then, he deepened the kiss. With his fingers weaved into Dean’s hair, he pushed his lips harder onto his own. Dean groaned from the unexpected control that he was taking, the sound muffled between them.

Castiel pulled back and yanked at the hem of Dean’s shirt. He guided it over Dean’s head, then kissed him hard again. They pressed chest to chest now, intoxicated from the heat between them.

With a goofy smile, Dean moved away for a moment and slipped his pendant necklace over his head. He quickly hopped across the room and set it down carefully on top of his duffel bag. When he came back, Castiel touched his face gently and kissed him again, drawing him in close.

Dean’s hands felt between them, trailed up Castiel’s stomach, his chest. Then they snaked up to cradle Castiel’s jaw. Their arms were awkwardly entangled, touching each other’s faces, losing sense of whose limbs were whose. Castiel kept pressing a little too hard with his injured hand, so with a huff he just let it fall to his side. His other hand fell to Dean’s ass, and he felt the way Dean’s jeans were tight and fit him well. He broke away and looked down, taking in the sight of Dean’s chest. The freckles- _dammit_ \- that spread down his neck to his chest and even speckled on his stomach.

Dean must have sensed that he was distracted because his hands went to Castiel’s belt, and he didn’t even notice until Dean had yanked it off. The force of it pulled Castiel closer to him, and their hips aligned. Castiel’s hand was still on Dean’s ass, and he realized he could pull him even closer. They collided, both hard, and after each spark of contact they made, Dean breathed in sharply. Castiel buried his face into Dean’s neck and kissed it hard. His lips moved, then, to Dean’s lips. Dean kissed him hotly, almost pushing his backwards.

Using his grip on Dean’s ass, he grinded their hips together, moving up and down in a rhythm that was out of sync, mostly because they were trying to feel as much as they could of each other through their pants. He felt like he was moving frantically, while Dean was calm and achingly slow, drawing his hips up, his cock brushing the entire length of Castiel’s, then moving down with a dizzying force. Castiel draped his other arm around Dean’s shoulders, making sure not to bump his bad hand. It kept him grounded.

“Bed,” Dean muttered, through a kiss.

Castiel kissed him deeply, not wanting to pull away just yet. Dean must have thought he ignored him because he was the one to finally groan and then pull away. He pushed at Castiel’s shoulders, walking him a few steps backward until the backs of Castiel’s knees hit the mattress.

Castiel felt something grow within him and he took control. He placed a hand flat on Dean’s chest, turn them around and pushed Dean onto the bed. Dean bounced once, with a surprised expression on his face. Then, with bright eyes and bitten lips, he reached up to clasp a hand on the back of Castiel’s neck and pulled him down over him. Castiel put both knees on the mattress, bracketing Dean, and braced himself with his good hand. He tried to not put any pressure on his cut.

Castiel kissed Dean hard, pushing his mouth open. Dean wrapped both of his arms around Castiel’s neck and drew him in closer. Castiel settled between Dean’s legs, the heat there growing. He could feel all of Dean, but their pants were still an annoying barrier.

Castiel broke away and started to undo Dean’s belt. Dean sat up on his elbows and watched him with dark eyes and lips that almost looked red from kissing. When Castiel glanced up at him, he felt pride that he had drawn out that absolutely enamored and wrecked expression from Dean, a man who during the daytime, was the life of the party and most often the center of attention. Now, Dean was all his.

He got Dean’s belt off and he flung it across the room, then started on the button and the zipper of his jeans. He knew it would be hard, awkward even, to try and get their pants off, but then Dean was lifting his hips and laughing as Castiel was tugging his jeans down his thighs, over his knees. Castiel had to stand and yank Dean’s jeans off his ankles and then he discarded them in a pile on the floor. Dean quickly stripped off his underwear too, and Castiel felt nerves slam in his chest at the thought that, _yes, finally_ , Dean was naked before him.

“Come here,” Dean breathed out as he sat up with his legs over the edge of the bed. Castiel stepped forward, his knees hitting the bed between Dean’s thighs. Dean worked open the fly of his pants. Castiel tried to keep his breathing in check, but it was hitched, and if he held his breath only for a moment it came out loud and demanding.

Dean pulled his pants and underwear down to his knees in one determined tug, then Castiel stepped out of them. He kicked them over to where Dean’s jeans were on the floor, then didn’t know what to do with himself. It was as if a storm had passed, and they were standing there in total silence aftermath. He placed his injured hand lightly on Dean’s shoulder and brushed the other one through the hair on his forehead.

Dean’s hands smoothed up and down his bare thighs, then snaked up and grabbed his ass. Castiel pushed a hand tighter through Dean’s hair, and Dean looked fucking gorgeous. His eyelashes were thick, and his cheeks were flush. His eyes were so incredibly green that it made Castiel want to just stare and forget everything. They just watched each other, not knowing what to do now that they were at the point, with everything they wanted before them.

Dean leaned forward and kissed his stomach with an open mouth, pulling out a sigh from Castiel. Then, Dean’s wrapped his hand around Castiel’s cock, half hard and embarrassingly exposed.

Castiel instantly melted. He bent over, pressed his face into Dean’s hair and moaned as Dean began to pump him in his hand.

Dean’s other hand fell to the crook of his knee and Castiel instinctually bent his knee and set it beside Dean. Then, he brought his other knee up and straddled Dean’s thighs. Dean guided him down onto his lap with a hand on his lower back, and he pumped his hand again, his grip tightening on Castiel’s cock, the angle perfect. Their chests were aligned now, and Castiel pressed his forehead against Dean’s, their shaky breaths colliding. He straightened up, realizing Dean’s hand was almost trapped between them, and the angle became even more intoxicating.

Castiel tilted back to brace his good hand on Dean’s knee then he thrusted up into his hand. He tried to control himself, tried to go slow. Dean’s grip on him was fucking incredible, and he had to stifle a moan. Dean was just watching him, his eyes flitting down to his hand on his cock, then back up to his face.

It was becoming too much- the way Dean’s hand was a little too dry but warm and tight on him and the way Dean sat so patiently, so calmly, just watching him with wonder as if he was doing it all himself. Castiel had to stop it, he had to touch him. He leaned forward and grabbed the back of Dean’s neck, then kissed him hard. He bad hand draped over Dean’s shoulder.

They sat that way for a while, kissing, with Dean’s hand still wrapped around his cock, pumping up and down lazily. Dean’s own cock was hard against his leg. They kissed until Castiel felt dizzy and so aroused that he almost felt like he could come if they just continued like this.

He moved his hips forward until Dean had to move his hand away and then they bumped up against each other. They both instantly gasped and Castiel felt how hard Dean was now. Dean looked down at their cocked pressed together, and then cupped his hands over Castiel’s ass, pushing his hips even closer and keeping him secure. He looked back up and kissed him hard. They rocked together, the friction just enough to drive them crazy, but just hinting at something that could be greater. After a moment, Dean pushed his hand down between them and wrapped his hand fully around both of them.

It was instantly exhilarating, the feeling of Dean’s hand wrapped around them and Dean’s cock rubbing up beside his. They both moaned quietly, in unison, between open-mouthed kisses.

Dean was muttering things that weren’t quite coherent- _fuck fuck I want._

Castiel thrusted upward as Dean pumped his hand over both of them, then Castiel reached down and wrapped his hand over his, making Dean’s grip even tighter. They both cursed.

“Cas-,” Dean said, with his lips on his jaw. “Can you…fuck…can you,”

Castiel didn’t know what he was trying to ask, and Dean’s voice sounded so far away from the ringing in Castiel’s ears. All of his senses were heightened, and every nerve at its peak. He needed it to be harder, rougher.

He grabbed Dean’s shoulder and pushed down until Dean was on his back. Dean let go of them and moved up the bed until his head hit the pillow. Castiel followed, looming over him with both of his hands beside his head. He put pressure on his bad hand, but he didn’t care. He could barely feel the pain over everything else he felt. He aligned his hips with Dean again, pushing and grinding down onto him. Dean gasped as Castiel bent down and kissed him hard. Dean’s hand repositioned and gripped their cocks from a new angle, which made them both buck up their hips and rut against each other. Castiel buried his face into the crook of Dean’s neck and sucked on the skin there, wanting to taste every part of him. He thrusted his hips desperately into Dean’s fist.

It wasn’t enough, he wanted to hear Dean moan, wanted to make him moan. He pushed himself up, doubled back onto his ankles, and then took Dean into his mouth. Dean instantly bucked up in surprise, pushing himself against the back of Castiel’s throat. Castiel steadied himself, tried to relax and not gag. Dean settled down with a moan and his hands sprung into Castiel’s hair, threading his fingers through it. Slowly, after feeling Dean’s cock with his tongue, he started to move his head up and down, drawing out gasps from Dean.

Castiel wasn’t exactly experienced with it, but he learned quickly. He knew when to quicken his pace, or slow down to make Dean tense up and grip his hair tighter. He wanted to tease him, wanted to draw this out. Dean sucked in his breath, and Castiel send a hand running up his stomach, along his ribs. He settled his hand on Dean’s hip, pushing him down so he didn’t buck up. “Fuck, Cas,” Dean bit out, and his hands tightened in Castiel’s hair.

Castiel quickened his pace, hollowed his cheeks, pushed his limits until he felt involuntary tears spike at his waterline. Dean tried to keep his hips steady, breathing heavily. Castiel took all of him in, and Dean moaned loudly. Castiel felt it vibrate through his body.

“Wait wait,” Dean said, breathless. “Come here.” Dean pulled at Castiel’s hair, and Castiel lifted his head. Dean was flushed from the chest up, and he pulled Castiel’s hair harder.

Castiel moved up to meet his eyes, brush their noses together. Dean grabbed the back of Castiel’s neck and pulled him forward to his lips. Dean kissed him, open mouthed, their teeth clashing. Castiel bit Dean’s bottom lip, lightly, then kissed him hard.

Castiel was over Dean, awkwardly on an angle, as he was putting most of his weight on his good hand. Dean pushed at his shoulder, and Castiel slowly lied down on his back. Dean was over him quickly, straddling his hips, with two hands planted solid on either side of Castiel’s head.

Dean kissed him hard, and Castiel locked a hand on the back of Dean’s neck. He let his injured hand rest useless beside him. Dean trailed a hand down his side, sending shivers through him, then wrapped his fingers around Castiel’s cock. Castiel opened his mouth, gasped into Dean’s. Dean kissed the corner of his mouth.

The tension was maddening, and Dean’s grip on him was tight and hot. Dean’s hand was steady, unrelenting. With the hand on the back of Dean’s neck, Dean reached down and found Dean’s cock. Dean moaned, his voice broken, and he tucked his face into the crook of Castiel’s shoulder. He kissed him there, or bit down lightly when Castiel pumped his hand.

The friction between them caught each time they moved their hips, and it sent shivers down Castiel’s whole body.

Dean’s lips found his again, and kissed him almost messily, frantically their mouths open and breathing heavy. With Dean pressed up against him, he could feel Dean’s stomach tighten, his hips thrusted towards him and frozen, then he came, spilling out into Castiel’s fist.

Castiel loosened his grip just a bit, letting Dean recover, but he thrusted harder into Dean’s hand, letting himself go, and he came as well, not long after Dean.

After coming down, Dean practically collapsed on top of Castiel. He settled his head below his chin and they both pulled their hands out from between them.

“Jesus Christ…” Dean said with a sharp voice and then ran a hand through his hair. Castiel closed his eyes and felt the Dean’s head, heavy on his chest, the weight grounding. He could feel Dean’s heart still slamming in his chest. Then, Dean’s whole chest vibrated, and it was like music flowing into Castiel’s ears, although he felt more than heard Dean’s laughter. “Leave it to me to curse that way to a guy whose named after an angel.”

Castiel looked down at the top of Dean’s head. His hair was a messy cloud, spiking everywhere. Castiel’s hair probably looked worse. Dean rolled off Castiel and collapsed heavily next to him. Castiel looked over at the side of Dean’s face and - _fuck_ \- he looked like a mess. His face was pink. Pride and remaining whisps of arousal filled Castiel, knowing that he made Dean look that way.

“You think I care?” Castiel said. “I may be named after an angel but after this…”

He wanted Dean to say something entirely corny- like _now you’re a devil, right?_ but Dean just looked over, gave him a wide, cocky smile and said, “Now you _are_ a fucking angel.”

Castiel wanted so bad to grab the pillow he was resting on and smack Dean with it. But he just found himself laughing along with him, then rolling onto his side and pressing kisses to his neck, his collarbone, his shoulder.

Dean propped himself up on his elbow, and Castiel didn’t know what he was doing until he had reached over and held Castiel’s wrist. “How’s your hand?” Dean asked and looked at it closely. Castiel looked too. Blood had seeped through the bandage, but just a couple dots of red shone through, and the bandage had shifted a bit. “I tried to avoid it,” Dean said, with a sly smile. He brought Castiel’s hand to his lips and kissed the fingers. His hand still hurt, and Castiel would never admit it in a million years, but Dean kissing it did make it feel better.

“I’ll live,” Castiel said.

Dean looked at him, his expression so fixed, intense, caring, it made Castiel’s stomach flip. Dean placed his hand carefully down on to his chest, and then reached up and mindlessly twirled a hand through Castiel’s hair.

Castiel leaned in close to him, and pressed his nose against Dean’s chest, pressed a kiss there, buried his face against Dean’s warm skin. 

“You know what I want?” Dean murmured

Castiel just hummed as he pressed kisses to his collar bone, then his neck.

“A fucking cigarette,” Dean whispered. Castiel looked up at him, and Dean looked so content and goofy that he had to smile back at him.

Castiel shifted away and sat up beside Dean, feeling extremely self-conscious about being fully naked. Dean sat up and kissed his shoulder, then bit it lightly, which made Castiel breath out another laugh.

Dean kissed his cheek quickly, then got up off the bed and crossed the room to his duffel bag. Castiel just allowed himself to enjoy the view, the line of Dean’s spine down his back, ending at the top of his ass, which was firm and _fucking great._ Castiel tilted his as his eyes trailed back up and settled on Dean’s shoulders, slightly overdeveloped like he used to lift weight when he was growing up, or from working on cars all day.

Dean rummaged through his bag and turned around to reveal a box of cigarettes and a lighter. When he realized Castiel had been looking at him, his smile dropped to an expression of awe or seriousness, then the mood was dashed on the rocks when Dean held out his arms to his sides and spun in one slow circle. He came back around to give Castiel the same, shit-eating grin. “You like what you see?”

Castiel rolled his eyes. He wanted to say something like _you wish_ , or _you’re a cocky son of a bitch, you know that?_ But, instead, his mind betrayed him, and his expression became serious, and what slipped out was, “Very much, yes.”

Dean’s grin dropped again, and he almost looked like he could be embarrassed, or shy. He wouldn’t take Dean as someone who was shy, but he saw color rise in his cheeks. “Don’t be all mushy now,” Dean said and broke into a small laugh.

“Cigarette?” Castiel said to break the tension and held out his hand.

Dean held up a finger first, then turned back around and grabbed two pairs of underwear from his bag. He blindly tossed one to Castiel, and Castiel caught it casually before he realized it was Dean’s underwear. He instantly felt hot. He was going to put on Dean’s underwear after sex. The thought almost made him want to grab onto Dean again and go for a second round.

He pulled on the underwear, and settled back down on the bed, careful not to bump his bad hand. Castiel sat up and crisscrossed his legs.

Dean stepped into his, well _Castiel’s_ , underwear and crossed the room, where he sat on the edge of the bed beside Castiel and stuck a cigarette between his teeth.

“Let me,” Castiel said and took the lighter from Dean’s hand. He cupped his hand over the end of Dean’s cigarette, pressing the side of his hand to Dean’s cheek for support, and lit it up.

Dean breathed out a puff of smoke that pillowed onto Castiel’s face, then Dean offered him one from the box. Castiel took it and lit it himself. The smoke filling his lungs was better than it usually was, probably because of the sex.

“I wish I could have danced with you,” Dean said quietly after a moment of silence passed between them. Dean didn’t look up at him; his eyes were trained on the smoldering end of his cigarette, clutched between his fingers.

Castiel looked at him in disbelief for a moment, his comment forcing Castiel to think back to the party, which seemed like days ago now. He remembered watching the couples dance in the sun while Donna sang. He could, for a moment, confess to Dean that that’s all he thought of too in the moment, and that’s all he’s wanted for months now. But he decided to keep him on his toes, so to speak. “I don’t dance,” he said, and took a pull from his cigarette.

Dean laughed and finally looked at him. He lifted up a leg on the bed and angled himself toward him. “Oh yeah?” he said. “And you also don’t smoke, or party, or drink or come out of the city.”

Castiel thought for a moment, holding smoke in his mouth. Then, he let it out. “I do that stuff with you.”

Dean gave him a shrug that said _fair enough,_ then lost himself in a long pull of his cigarette. The ember at the end of it brightened for a moment, then subsided.

He shifted on the bed and sat up on it fully now, crisscrossing his legs and mirroring Castiel, their knees touching.

“Can I ask you a question?” Castiel asked, not knowing why he said it.

“That was a question.”

Castiel rolled his eyes.

“Alright then. Ask.”

Castiel took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. He wasn’t exactly sure why he wanted to ask this. “That guy...Victor, was he flirting with you?”

Dean looked at him, puzzled for a moment, his eyebrows scrunched together. “Victor? Oh...I don’t know. Maybe? I’ve known him for a while. He used to be a cop like Jody. He’s had...oh man... _too_ many ex-wives. But he’s always been like that around me. Seems like a crush.” Dean sucked on his cigarette; his eyes steady on Castiel’s.

Castiel felt nerves grow in his stomach. “But...are you. Do you?”

“Do I like him? No.”

Castiel dropped his eyes to his cigarette, and took a small pull from it, feeling like he was imploring. “Are you queer?” he asked.

Dean smiled, like he knew what he was getting at. He half expected Dean to laugh in his face and either say: _no! that’s fucking gross_ , or _Jesus fucking Christ I just had sex with you. What do you think?_ He never knew with Dean. But Dean eased the tension and shrugged. “I don’t know. Frankly, I don’t really care. I kinda like both men and women or whatever. I’ve just...never really thought about it that much.”

Castiel just stared at him closely, and Dean looked down at his cigarette until he gave in and met Castiel’s eyes. He gave him a soft smile. Then, his eyes lit up and his smile widened. “Wanna hear something funny?”

Castiel couldn’t help but smile back. “That depends, will I find it funny?”

“You might get jealous.”

Castiel tilted his head, but then succeeded. “Fine. Tell me.”

“A year or two ago, I was in Swayze’s, you know, like I always am. There was this celebrity guy in town, and he showed up at the bar and everyone was going wild. Dude was chugging beer- I mean, like it was fuckin’ going out of style. I had half the amount of beer he had but we were just as fucked up. I guess Hollywood guys drink a lot, I don’t know. Anyway, we made out in the bathroom for a goddamn while. And um…well, you know, other stuff. Now, get this…guy’s name was Marlon Brando.”

Castiel felt his jaw instantly drop. “Holy fuck.”

“Mm-hmm,” Dean said and looked like a smug son of a bitch as he leaned back on his hand and drew his cigarette up to his mouth. He breathed out through a thin parting of his lips and lifted up an eyebrow.

“You…” Castiel couldn’t find his words. “You’re telling me, you made out with _Marlon Brando_ in Swayze’s.”

Dean nodded curtly. “Yup.” He said the word with a _pop_ on the end. “You jealous of Mr. Brando?”

“No, I’m jealous of you. He’s fucking hot.”

Dean opened his mouth, then leaned forward and pushed Castiel’s shoulder playfully. “Fuck you then!”

Castiel started laughing and he couldn’t stop. It was the ridiculousness of it all. He felt so swoon and soft, sitting practically naked in front of Dean. It felt so foreign yet so comfortable. He wanted to tell Dean that he was the most incredible person he ever met.

Dean was smiling at him softly, and they both neglected their cigarette’s, letting them burn closer and closer to their fingers. “I’ve never told anyone that. And I mean, I’ve done… stuff with other guys. It’s not like it’s a big deal or anything. I’ve been with a lot of women too. I’m- I don’t know,” Dean said.

Castiel’s eyes settled down on Dean’s chest, and he thought absently, that he could tell Dean anything. “I don’t like women. I think I only like men.” He took a long-awaited pull from his cigarette.

“That’s okay,” Dean said.

A comfortable silence passed between them as they relished in the fading of the warmth from the sex.

“Let me guess,” Dean said. “You’re gonna ask me if you’re my best.”

Castiel’s eyes shot up to Dean’s, and he felt like he wasn’t entirely off base. “No,” he said regardless.

“It’s okay if you were...because I’d say that that’s not even a question. Brando was all tongue...and way too old for me.” 

Castiel swallowed thickly, thinking he should laugh but wanting to take it in instead.

“And I care about you,” Dean continued, his voice lower. “I’ve never really, I don’t know, cared about…all those people who I just shack up with.”

Dean wasn’t looking at him, probably because Castiel knew his gaze was heavy on him. But he couldn’t look away. He wanted to see all of this, all of Dean. “I care about you too,” he said.

Dean looked up and had the softest smile on his face, like he was waiting to hear that exact response. Castiel leaned forward and kissed any insecurity off his lips.

They decided to abandon their cigarettes and get under the covers. After coming down, they realized how cold the basement was.

Dean forced Castiel to comply when he wanted to replace some of the bandages on his hand. He didn’t unwrap it totally, but he replenished the top layer. “How’s it feel?” he asked quietly.

Castiel kissed his forehead. The cut on his hand did hurt, and it throbbed a bit under the bandage, but he knew it would heal well because of Dean. “Better,” he said.

They lied down facing each other, their legs tangled and their stomachs touching when they inhaled. Dean reached out and pressed a fist to his chest, just to know he’s there. Once Dean had turned off the light, it was almost entirely dark, save for the narrow window near the ceiling which let in blue early morning light. 

“Hey Cas?” Dean said. He must have thought he had fallen asleep, but Castiel was still awake, just a little hazy. Castiel hummed a response to let him know he was still there. “You seemed a little…phased out when you cut your hand. I knew it hurt and everything and there was a lot blood but, I was worried. Just that there was something more, I don’t know. Something that was on your mind. Everything is okay, right?”

He instantly feared that Dean was going to mention his brother, and that the grief that still raged inside of him was going to come barreling in and ruin the comfort he felt. He swallowed down the worry and spoke with a voice quieter than he expected. “I- I’m okay. It was just the blood. And…”

Castiel couldn’t finish.

“What?” Dean asked softly, his nose brushing his.

“And this day was amazing. And I feel I don’t deserve it. Not when...you know, my brother is gone. Not ever, really. He was the one who deserved all this.” Although lulled by sleep, and comforted by Dean’s presence, Castiel was still surprised that he could speak truthfully.

A tense silence settled between them, but then Dean shifted closer and moved a hand to Castiel’s jaw. “Cas, you deserve to be alive,” he said.

“I feel guilty,” Castiel said.

“You shouldn’t,” Dean said and paused, took a deep breath. “Cas, sometimes good things happen in the worst parts of your life. I would know. And, _I’m_ glad you’re alive.” 

“You are?”

“Of course. I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t meet you...I’d...”

Cold fear coiled within him at the way Dean’s voice sounded. Strained. Afraid even. “What?”

“Never mind. It’s okay”

“Dean-”

“I’m just glad I met you okay? We all need you… _I_ need you.”

It hit him. To be needed, he thought, was what he’s wanted all his life. Of course, love was a whole other thing.

_Oh. So, this is what this is._

He _loved_ Dean. Fiercely. And as much as it filled him with an obscene amount of happiness to hear those words from Dean’s lips- the _I need you_ \- he hoped someday he could hear him say that word. Love. To be need, yes, he has wanted to hear forever. But to be loved, would be something he’d never heard. 

“We should go to sleep,” Dean said, then he shifted closer again and brushed his nose against his cheek.

Castiel did start to get sleepy and sleeping next to Dean would be a gift.

Dean shifted until his back was pressed to Castiel’s chest and coupled with the warmth and smoothness of Dean’s skin, he drifted off quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this chapter is dedicated to [this post](https://bisexualdemondean.tumblr.com/post/186809886312/to-what-time-would-you-go-if-you-had-a-time)  
> (Although I don’t think 1958 was when he was hottest. It was probably more like 1951)
> 
> Come be nice to me (please) on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/green-eyes-and-classic-rock)


	10. Ostinado

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a repeated phrase

“The truth may be stretched thin, but it never breaks, and it always surfaces above lies, as oil floats on water.”

― Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra

**Rêverie**

The month was trudging on, getting hotter and hotter. Castiel decided to pick up another job. On the weekends, he helped Missouri with the daycare and that covered the cost of Claire’s stay there during the week.

He liked bonding with the kids. Kelly worked at a makeup counter uptown along with her weekly job and night classes. So, Castiel found himself taking care of the twins more and more. Jack was especially talkative. He’d always run up to Castiel and explain his interests in hyper speed. Jack liked snakes, especially corn snakes. And he could riddle off as many facts about them as you’d let him. When Kelly would come home from work and pick them up, Jack would ask for a pet snake every day, and Kelly would have to say no. He was too young, and frankly it would be jarring to have to watch the snake devour mice.

It had been about two or three weeks since the Fourth of July party. He remembered the morning after. He woke up feeling so disoriented and there was a weight over his chest. Dean was lying on him, snoring and most definitely drooling onto his bare chest. For a bit, he just looked down at Dean, carded his fingers through his sandy hair, and brushed his lips against his forehead.

They woke up later than they wanted to, but luckily it was well before Jody came down to check on them. Dean had messed up the covers of the other bed, to save their skins.

Now, even after so many weeks, it still felt surreal. Being back in the city was like being shoved back into a steel prison after escaping and running through the wilderness.

He’d seen Dean briefly a few times during the week. Campbell’s had gained a lot more recognition after Gabriel’s show, which rubbed Castiel a bad way but also made him happy for Dean. He’d play piano during the day while writers shuffled in and out, practically filling up the whole place. Dean would be flitting about, catering to customers, cleaning up, running the register. But perpetually he felt Dean’s eyes on him and saw him smile in the corner of his eye.

Dean never really talked to him, however. Once the evening crowd would start piling in, and Castiel would pack up to leave, he’d give Dean a tentative wave and Dean would, oddly enough, just give him a small half smile then fling himself into work. Castiel tried to not think about it too much. Dean was busy. That was all.

One afternoon, while he had an hour break between his shift ending at Charlie’s and when he was due to pick up Claire, he decided to go visit his mother.

The ride up town was like revisiting an old song that gave him bad memories.

He made it to his apartment with enough time for a quick visit and to get what he needed.

“Ma?” He called out when he entered the apartment.

No one answered.

He walked down the hallway to his bedroom. Before he could make it through his doorway someone called his name from the master bedroom.

“Ma I was calling you,” Castiel said as he followed her voice. Fear trickled through him. If she was not being responsive, then that would mean she was in her down mood for weeks on end. Longer than usual.

He entered the room to see Naomi wrapped in the covers on her bed. “Castiel,” she said. “Oh, I haven’t seen you in months, honey.” She reached out her hand. Castiel came up to her and wrapped it up in both of his.

“It hasn’t been months,” he said. “I’m sorry…”

Naomi shook her head. “It’s okay. Your brother was a great help. He made me meals and talked with me. How nice is that?”

Castiel looked around the room. Dishes full of half-eaten food were on any available surface. They piled up and smelled. A couple more days of this and there might be cockroaches. Castiel realized he’d have to clean up a bit before he went. “Has Gabe gone back to California?” he asked.

“A couple days ago, yes,” Naomi said. “I think his wife was getting angry.”

“I should have been here.”

“Don’t be crazy now.”

Castiel could laugh at that. All his life people called his mother crazy and she had no idea. She used the word like it wasn’t her albatross.

“Where’s Dad?”

“I don’t know.”

Castiel scratched the back of his head and felt weak. Like he was a teenager again, comforting his mother. He lied down next to her in bed. Her breath smelled, like she hadn’t been up in days. He didn’t care.

“Mom,” he said. “I didn’t…I didn’t get to check on you. You know, with Jimmy.”

“I should have been the one to check on you. You two were so close. Practically one.”

Castiel felt his throat close up. “No,” he said, his voice strained. “We weren’t really. I always thought we were, but not really.”

“What do you mean? You were twins.”

“I didn’t know him that well, Mom. I always thought he was perfect. If I knew him at all I’d know that he probably wasn’t. But, of course, I can’t get that thought out of my head.”

Castiel looked at him hands. There, he saw the scar that he got on Fourth of July. Dean had patched it up well, but, to Castiel suspicion, there was still a hairline of light pink. There were tiny punctures where the needle had pushed through.

Jimmy doesn’t have that scar.

Castiel looked up at his mother, and she scrunched her eyebrows together, like she was confused. She changed the subject. “How’s Claire?”

“Amazing. Strong. Smart. She’s great mom. Of course, she’s struggling like me. Like all of us. But she’ll be okay.”

“She always reminded me of you.”

“I know. That’s what everyone says. It’s the eyes.”

“No,” Naomi said. “It’s not just that. You have the same soul. And you’re both like me. We’re lonely people Castiel.”

Castiel felt his chest constrict. He knew it was true, but he didn’t want it to be true. And what if it wasn’t? He’d be kidding himself.

He loved Dean. But it was too good to be true.

“Are we?” He asked his mother, but he knew.

“We keep to ourselves. We don’t let people in. If we do it’s still behind some kind of barrier. We may look strong on the outside and hide our emotions, but on the inside, the world crushes us. I don’t feel like a person Castiel, I feel like an empty space. I know you feel the same.”

His mother was toxic. He knew it. But the thought gave him comfort, like going back on an addiction, just once, reliving it, and not caring about the consequences.

“I feel the same. Jimmy should be alive. Not me.”

“If you feel that way…I can’t combat it.” His mother’s voice was passive and casual like she was telling him about the morning news. It sent a pang to Castiel’s chest.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry.”

“I want both of you alive.”

“But” Castiel said quietly, looking down at his hands. “I know you’d choose him...if you had the chance.”

Naomi didn’t hold back. She nodded, ever so slightly, then said: “I can’t lie.”

He left his mother’s room after they sat in silence for a bit. He looked back up at her to see that she was asleep.

He snuck out into the hallway and finally entered his bedroom. If he remembered correctly, what he wanted was inside a shoebox. After the funeral, he was given some of Jimmy’s possessions. His brother wasn’t buried with his cross, because he had forgotten to wear it the night he died, and nobody knew if he’d wanted to pass it down.

Castiel had a matching one.

He found the two in the shoebox, alongside old baseball cards, a kid’s bible, Jimmy’s high school graduation certificate, polaroid’s pictures of him and Amelia.

He took the necklaces and dropped them in his pocket.

**Clair de Lune**

Castiel wasn’t religious. He went to church when he was young, habitually, every Sunday. But, when he was fifteen, and he started to look forward to a boy at his church smiling at him every time he saw him, and he liked the way his hair fell, and the way his eyes brightened, he knew he couldn’t keep going. The sermons he heard were all against people like him, and if he was going to hell, he might as well try and forget about it all to keep from going insane. 

When his brother gifted him a cross, he meant well, but he hadn’t known the damage it done.

The necklaces felt heavy in his pocket when he picked up Claire from daycare. Missouri placed a hand on his shoulder, to ask if he was okay, and he gave her a reassuring smile.

When they went up to their apartment, Castiel sat Claire down on one of the chairs in front of the piano.

“I have something for you,” he said and fished the necklaces out from his pocket. He was angry at himself that he hadn’t done this sooner.

He reached over and took Claire’s little hand in his, then placed the necklace on her palm. It was his necklace. He could tell because the cross was rose gold, while Jimmy’s was silver.

“I’m sure your father was going to give you a necklace like this when you were older. But I thought I’d give it to you now. Maybe it will help.”

“Help with what?” Claire almost looked like she was about to dive into a tantrum. She tended to do that, whenever her parents were mentioned.

“Claire, I know you’ve been having trouble sleeping. Most of the time, I hear you crying in the middle of the night.”

“Why would you care? You don’t help me! All you do is bring me out here.” Claire pointed to Castiel’s bed in the corner. “We don’t talk about it!”

“We can talk about it now,” Castiel said calmly.

“No!”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re not my dad. I talked to my dad about everything. I want him back!” Claire jumped down from the chair and ran over to the couch. Castiel looked down to see the necklace discarded on the floor.

Claire buried her face into a pillow.

He thought they had been bonding well. Maybe he’s been off base with everything.

_Claire was a lot like him. They had the same soul._

Castiel turned to the piano.

He began to play a song that reminded Castiel of Claire’s name. Clair de Lune, meaning moonlight. He thought she’d like it, as it began slow and pleasant. It almost forced one to rein in their emotions to neutrality, to calm.

He looked over halfway through the song, as the tempo increased, and saw Claire looking at him between her fingers. He tilted his head, gesturing for her to come over. She rolled her eyes and slid off the couch, then sauntered over to him and climbed up on the wooden chair beside him.

She watched him play for a bit. He slowed down so she can see the keys he was pressing, see the notes each produced.

When he was finished, he dropped his hands to his lap. “That song makes me think of you. Clair de Lune.”

“I like it,” Claire said and twiddled her thumbs. She looked shy but calmed down now. “You should play more. You haven’t played on this piano in forever.”

“I’ve been busy. I’m sorry.”

“I guess you’re okay,” she said, and Castiel took that as her accepting him as someone who could care for her. Maybe not a father, and he was not going to try and fill that role that was empty but could never be filled. But a friend, perhaps. “And I’m sorry I was mean.”

“Do you want to talk about your parents? I think talking about them will help both of us…cope with everything.”

“I don’t want to talk about them,” she began to say, and she twirled a piece of her hair. “No, I do want to. Because I think about them all the time. I don’t know. If I talk about them, I get sad. I just like to think.” 

Castiel took in a deep breath. He bent down and scooped up his rose gold cross from the floor and held it out for Claire. Claire reached out with her little fingers and grasped the necklace. She stared down at the pendant.

“Tell you what,” Castiel said, then strung Jimmy’s silver necklace onto his neck. Claire looked up at him with eyes the size of moons. “Let’s not talk about them. But we _should_ think about them. When we do, we can let each other know. All you gotta do is hold your necklace like this,” Castiel grasped the cross, held it between his finger and thumb and held it out in front of him. “That’ll be like a signal. Then, we’ll squeeze our eyes shut, and think about them. And we’ll say _thank you_. And we’ll say _I miss you both_. And we’ll say _I’ll love you always_. We can do this, and so then every time we get sad, we can just look at each other, hold our necklaces like this, and take a minute to pray.”

He wasn’t a religious person. But he could pray to his brother. He could pray to Amelia. It will keep them both beside him. More importantly, it’ll keep them with Claire.

Claire looked down at her necklace and started to fiddle with the clasp, but she couldn’t get it. Castiel took it from her hands and draped the necklace onto her neck.

“Okay,” Claire said. “I like that.”

She held out her cross, they squeezed their eyes shut, and Castiel thought _thank you. I miss you. I love you._

****

**Crossroad Blues**

Castiel had a couple hours to himself on a Saturday afternoon after dropping off Claire at Kaia’s house for a playdate. Usually Missouri had him work at the daycare, but since Claire was elsewhere, she let him have the day off.

Coming back from midtown, he instantly got on the subway line that took him all the way to the other end of Greenwich. He wanted to see Dean.

When he got to Campbell’s, Garth was behind the counter and Dean was nowhere in sight.

“Piano man!” Garth called out, slapping his hands on the bar.

“Dean around?” Castiel asked.

“What am I chopped liver?”

Castiel shook his head with a smile. “No sorry, I just…I thought he’d be here.”

Garth shrugged. “He took off. Something Sammy related. You know how it is.”

Castiel knew. Dean may love his bar, but he’d abandon it at the drop of a hat if Sam needed him.

“So, he’s home?” Castiel asked, trying not to seem too desperate but probably failing. He hadn’t seen Dean properly in weeks, he’s allowed to be desperate.

“I guess so,” Garth said.

Castiel thanked him and headed out the bar.

He decided to walk instead of taking the train.

When he turned on to Dean’s street, he saw two women arguing on the corner. They seemed like they could be mother and daughter, only the older one had bleach blonde hair and pink lips. The younger one was quite modest, without any makeup and with wavy brown hair.

As Castiel passed them, he overheard their tense conversation, something about a man. They kept saying _he did this_ , and _it’s his fault_. When Castiel passed by, they fell quiet and looked at him.

He scampered away, up to Dean’s apartment building, and pressed Dean’s doorbell.

There was no click of the door unlocking. After several moments, he rang again.

Five minutes passed.

He rang again.

Finally, the door clicked, and he went in.

He could hear the music booming even from the first floor. He could tell by the weeping guitar and the deep voice that it was a song by Robert Johnson. When Castiel came up to Dean’s floor, he was finally able to hear the lyrics clearer

_That I got the crossroad blues this mornin', Lord, babe, I'm sinkin' down_

Along the lyrics, he heard banging, and loud voices.

Down the hall, Sam was standing halfway out of the doorway, holding the door open just so his shoulder could get through. He was facing back into the room and yelling something that Castiel couldn’t make out.

When Castiel walked up to the door, Sam finally turned to look at him. “Oh. Hey Castiel,” he said.

“This seems like a bad time,” Castiel said above the music, glancing past Sam’s shoulder into the apartment.

Sam stepped out and closed the door behind him. “Um,” he looked at his feet. He looked so small, yet Castiel had to look up at him. “Kind of.”

“I can come back later-” Castiel started to say, but then Sam held up his hand.

“Dean’s been wanting to see you.”

“Oh. He said that?” Castiel tried to subdue heat that was growing on his face.

“No. I just…I can tell. You two are good friends. Dean and I are kinda fighting right now.”

“Oh…I.” He didn’t know what to say.

“Yeah I know. Why am I telling you right? Well…I’m going to college. I got in to all the schools I applied to and I’ve decided which one I’m going to: Stanford. In California.”

“Congratulations,” Castiel said, although it felt hollow.

“Thanks,” Sam said and rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s great. But, um, you know it’s not the best.”

“Is that what you two are fighting about?”

Sam nodded. Castiel just watched him in silence, then heard another frustrated bang from inside the apartment. Both him and Sam winced. “He’s helping me pack.”

“Sam…Dean will be fine-”

That seemed to strike a chord. “No. I don’t think he will be. He’ll say he will. But I know him, and I know what he’s done for me. He practically raised me. Now I’m going across the country…Cas- you gotta look after him.”

Castiel just looked at him, not knowing what to say. 

“Shit…I can’t just say that to you. I can’t just-”

“Sam, it’s okay.”

“No. I know you and my brother have grown close, but I barely know you and I’m such a dick for putting that on you. Forget it. Please.”

“Sam, I can do it.”

Sam just looked at him closely. He looked so hopeful, like life hadn’t yet burdened him with anything supremely heavy. Suddenly, Castiel could see why Dean was so protective of him.

They heard another bang from inside.

“I should go,” Sam said and grabbed the doorknob. “We could talk later…I don’t know. I’m leaving in a couple days.”

“Can you tell Dean I came by?”

“Of course,” Sam said then opened the door and disappeared within the apartment.

Castiel stared at the door for a bit, hearing the song lower in volume just a bit. Then, he heard an argument revamp; and he took his leave.

When he got back out on the street, he saw the same women standing in the same spot. They ignored him this time, as they were talking to a short man with messy brown hair. Castiel walked by to see the profile of the man and-

Castiel froze.

It was his father, speaking with the two women. They seemed to be bickering about something. When Castiel realized it was Chuck, he walked quicker down the street. It was only when he reached the corner that he looked back and saw all three of them looking directly at him.

Chuck’s eyes were wide and looking as though they could set Castiel on fire. The two women looked between him and his father, completely confused.

Castiel was the first to look away, and when he rounded the corner he started to run.

**Comptine d'un autre été**

Castiel came back to his apartment building feeling like his thoughts were muddled and nothing was linked. He hadn’t seen his father in months yet there he had been, with these two women he didn’t recognize. Chuck was looking at him like _he_ was the one who didn’t belong in the East Village.

When he came to his floor, he heard a sickening silence, then someone sobbing in a room down the hall. The sobs came in stressed intervals, like someone was holding this person in a tight embrace, not letting them spin too wildly out of control.

He dropped his keys when he heard it, and the metal pinged against the tile floor.

He stood there for several long moments, just hearing the sobs, and he noticed afterward that Kelly’s apartment door was left ajar. He took a step, then it was like he couldn’t stop.

“Hello?” he muttered as he walked down the hall, then he came before Kelly’s front door. In his sliver of vision, he could see Kelly on the floor on her knees, with Missouri beside her, wrapping her in her arms. Kelly was sobbing and rocking back and forth. Missouri was shushing her and smoothing her hand over her head.

Castiel shifted his foot and the floor below him creaked. Missouri’s head snapped up and saw him standing at the crack of the door. She stared daggers into him. “Castiel can you please close the door.”

“Casti-” Kelly said before a sob cut her off. She took in a shaky breath. “It’s okay come in.”

Castiel immediately shook his head. “No. I’m wrong for intruding…I’m going to-”

“He should go Kelly,” Missouri said tensely. Castiel reached out and grabbed the doorknob; he turned and poised himself to click the door closed behind him.

“Don’t you think he should know?” Kelly said through tears. Castiel stopped in his tracks like a record scratch.

“Kelly-”

“Know what?” Castiel said as he turned back and peaked into the room. He pushed open the door wider and took one step in, his hand still on the doorknob.

“Kelly, I don’t think this is a good idea. And you’re not even sure about it.” Missouri said.

Kelly sniffled and wiped tears from her cheek with three fingers. “But I want to know. I…I need to know.”

“This _will_ hurt you more than help.”

“What’s going on?” Castiel asked.

Finally, Kelly looked at him. She held up her hand and gestured for him to step inside fully. Castiel squinted her eyes at her, then came inside and closed the door behind him. He knelt in front of Kelly. Missouri still kept her arm around her shoulders, and Kelly reached out and grabbed Castiel’s hands. His skin prickled from the contact, but he accepted it, and let Kelly wrap her hands around his.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something. And it’s…” she looked at Missouri, then back at him. “It’s stupid and I have no evidence for it. But all I know is that your last name is Novak.”

Castiel blinked and gave Kelly a confused look.

Kelly continued. “Jack and Bel’s father…his last name was Novak too. Look, I know it’s a big city, and that it could be anyone. But I felt like it was fate when I met you because I could finally settle this.” Kelly moved one hand away from his and placed a fist against her chest. “I have this pain inside of me.”

Kelly went silent, and looked down at her lap. Missouri rubbed her shoulders, then gave Castiel a solemn look. Castiel looked to her for answers. “Luke Novak,” Missouri said, and Castiel felt his stomach drop. “She was with him for a month or so-”

“Then I found out I was just some dumb girl he was fucking on the side. He had a wife- a _pregnant_ wife. I…I was so stupid.”

Missouri clenched her hand tight on her shoulder. “Don’t you dare say that. You didn’t know. He’s the scum of the earth.”

Kelly pushed down a sob, then continued. “I saw him today. I ran into him at the mall uptown. That’s why I’m…how I am right now. I saw him and he gave me this _look._ This smile like he thought he won, like I was still that girl he left in the dust.”

When Kelly took in a strained breath again, and it came out with tears, Missouri rubbed her back.

After a long moment of Kelly trying to calm down, there was a tense silence, and both women looked up at him expectantly.

Castiel swallowed thickly. “That’s my brother.”

Kelly’s eyes widened. “I knew it,” she hissed. Then, she entangled her hands tighter in with his. “Castiel you are a good man and you being related to him puts no hard feelings between us.”

“That’s the first thing you tell him?” Missouri said incredulously.

Kelly looked at her and gave her a shrug. “What should I say? Your brother is a dick and has two kids none of his family knew about?”

“Fuck,” Castiel cursed.

Kelly turned back to him. “Castiel, I’m so sorry to drop this all on you. I just needed to know…and now I need to know more. I would like you to tell me about him. He told me nothing. I know nothing about my boy’s father and I…it’s a hole that’s missing in my life. I hate him. I _hate_ him. But I love my sons so much, and it’s unfair to them.”

Castiel just stared at her, his shoulders dropped, and his hands became dead weight. “I’m…I’m their uncle. They’re my nephews.”

Kelly had just the hint of a smile, and she squeezed his hands. “Yes,” she said. “You are.”

Castiel took in a breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “Where are they?” He felt like he wanted to see them with new eyes.

“Downstairs in the daycare. I’m going back down in a moment,” Missouri said.

Castiel nodded and pressed his lips together. “Kelly…I don’t…”

“Just tell me about your brother,” she said.

Missouri left the room.

That was how they spent the rest of the afternoon before Castiel was set to pick up Claire from Kaia’s.

Kelly got them each just one glass of deep red wine, and they swirled it slowly in circles and stared down into it like it held secret prophecies.

Castiel told her about what it was like to grow up with his brother. She listened with pain and concern etched into her eyebrows; she held Castiel’s hand the whole time.

He told her about the abuse he endured, more so than his other siblings. Luke saw him as a target because he was small and quiet, while Jimmy was loud and opinionated. Castiel wouldn’t cry to mom if Luke stuffed his head in the toilet or ripped chunks of hair off his head. Castiel had too much pride. Everyone knew Luke hated him, or that he hated his life, and he took it out on Castiel.

There was a time, while Castiel was in high school, that his brother burned through girl after girl like he was tearing off the pages of a magazine and tossing them crumpled up on the street. Castiel hadn’t realized that that had continued into his marriage. Kelly took each new piece of information like a brick added onto a house she was going to then burn to the ground.

“Do you think my boys will be like that?” Kelly finally asked after they finished their wine ages ago.

“They have an incredible mother. They couldn't possibly be like that,” Castiel said. He felt it with full conviction. 

"And…a great uncle,” Kelly said tentatively. “If you do stick around.”

“I will.”

**After Schubert**

****

Castiel was lying in bed in the late afternoon while Claire was reading a book and sitting cross-legged on the end of his bed.

He hadn’t been feeling well. There were creeping suspicions in the back of his mind that he was like his mother. 

He sat quietly with his hands clasped on his stomach. The apartment was hot and musty, as he didn’t have air conditioning and there was no fan. But earlier he had opened the French windows and occasionally felt a timid breeze come in.

He stared out at the park. The arch made a long brown shadow along the square, coupled with orange light. 

Washington Square Park used to be a cemetery. He read all about it in a book Kelly had on her coffee table: _NYC: a retrospective_. The cemetery was closed in 1825, but to this day, there remains more than 20,000 bodies under the concrete, deep in the earth.

The city was full of spirits. Sometimes, on rainy days, Castiel could feel them floating around like low fog tiptoeing on the streets, void of identity. 

The phone rang and Claire sprung off the bed to quiet the annoying call of the phone. She reached up on her tippy-toes and ripped the phone from its wall mount.

“Hello. Novak residence,” Claire said, acting like a little business lady. Castiel sat up on his elbows to watch her and she gave him a mischievous smile. She listened for a moment, then said. “It’s for you.” She held up the phone.

With a groan, Castiel rolled off of the bed and crossed the room. He took the phone from Claire and held it to his ear. “Yeah?”

“Cas,” it was undeniably Sam’s voice. “Hey. How are you?”

Claire seem to groan from boredom then hopped back on the bed again and sprawled out with her book.

Castiel frowned. “I’m well. How are you?” He wanted to ask about Dean. Castiel hasn’t been at Campbell’s all week.

“Um,” Sam’s voice sounded tense and steely through the phone. “I mean, could be better.”

“What’s going on?”

Sam sighed, and the noise rattled the phone. “I didn’t really call you because of this, but um...well, Dean’s going to Kansas. I can’t believe he didn’t tell you. I know how close you guys are. Um, our dad is sick. So, Dean gonna do down to help him.”

Castiel felt himself grip the phone tighter. The plastic creaked. “Is he okay?”

“My dad? I’m not sure. I keep thinking I should go. But I don’t think the man wants to see me. Last time Dean and I saw him, we got into a pretty big fight. I feel bad about it though. What if he...you know. What if something goes wrong?” Sam finally paused and took in a breath. Then, he said with a weak voice, “I have no idea why I'm unloading all of this onto you.”

“It’s okay, Sam.”

Sam paused for a moment, but then continued. “And Dean, um, he’s not doing so great. He…um, well he won’t even look at me, and he just seems really out of it.” 

Nerves ran cold through Castiel. “What can I do?”

“Well...really I was calling you to invite you to my going-away party,” Sam said in a higher voice like he was trying to make light of the situation. “Dean is expecting to leave right after the party. It’s at Campbell’s this weekend. I keep telling him it’s a terrible idea. I know how screwed up he is about me going across the country. I wish he would just slow down and listen to me.” 

Castiel paused and gazed out the window, across the park, in the direction of Campbell’s. So many times, he’s wished he could see it from his window. “Do you think I should come?” he said.

“Of course,” Sam said immediately. “Frankly, I think Dean would need you there for his sake.”

 _So why doesn’t he invite me himself?_ Castiel wanted to say, but he swallowed it down.

They both paused and let a moment tick between them.

“Cas, he’s acting weird,” Sam continued. “I don’t know what to do. I’m his brother, I should know what to do. But I swear every time he gets like this; I say all the wrong things.”

Castiel just stared down at his feet, not knowing what to say to console Sam. He wished he talked to him more, wished he formed a relationship with this person who Dean loved so much. He could feel the tension through the phone.

Sam spoke before he could, and he instantly felt like a jerk for it. “Are you gonna come?” he said.

Castiel glanced over at Claire. She could stay at Kelly’s. Jack and Bel had stayed here a couple nights ago so he could ask for the favor. He wanted to see Dean. “Of course,” he finally said.

“Thank god,” Sam said. “Maybe you can talk some sense into Dean. It’s not like I wanna force him _not_ to go to Kansas. But…being around our dad is always a bad idea. Dean’s just freaking me out, you know. He won’t listen. He’s got this one-track mind.”

“I’ll be there.”

They closed off with goodbyes that seemed far removed. Then, Castiel hung up the phone and sunk down into a chair at the kitchen table.

**In the Hall of the Mountain King**

Castiel was exhausted after a busy shift at Charlie’s. Claire was at Missouri’s daycare, but when he entered the lobby of his apartment building, he was met with a woman wearing an obnoxious floral dress, a purple hat, and white sunglasses. She stood at the counter, chatting animatedly with Crowley.

“Aunt Amara?” Castiel said and she turned around. He could spot his aunts fashion sense from a mile away.

She clapped her heels together and gave him a firm look. “Nephew. I came to collect you.”

“What?”

Amara rolled her eyes. “There’s some family drama we must hash out. Your father has been calling you off the hook. Where the hell have you been?”

“Um, excuse me, but I have a job.”

“Don’t get all snooty with me,” she said and crossed her arms. “Save the attitude for your father.”

“What happened?”

“He’s royally fucked up.” Amara tapped her foot.

Castiel looked over at the door of the daycare. Missouri was expecting him any minute.

“Look I really don’t want to get involved-”

“This isn’t about what you want Castiel. This is mandatory.”

Castiel sighed and dropped his head. “Fine. Let me work out what to do with Claire. I’ll be back in a moment.”

He spoke with Missouri, who looked past him and gave Amara the stinkiest stink eyes he’d ever seen. She agreed to take care of Claire for another hour or so. Claire asked him what was wrong, and he just ruffled her hair and told her there was nothing to worry about. It was strange seeing Jack and Bel, knowing now that he was their uncle. He knew they’d look exactly the same to him, only now completely different.

He reluctantly left with Amara and she caught a cab. “You think someone like me is gonna get on the subway? Not in this outfit,” she said.

They arrived at the apartment as the sun was swallowed up by the New Jersey hills in the distance.

“Brace yourself,” Amara whispered as she opened the door.

Inside was a screaming match. Chuck and Luke were there bickering about something in the living room while Naomi and Michael stood beside them. ~~~~

Castiel and Amara stood at the fray of the living room, watching the war. Then, Chuck’s eyes wandered to his, and the act was up. The room went silent.

“Castiel,” Chuck said. “I’m glad you finally decided to come. I’ve been calling you.” His father’s words were dripping in resentment.

Castiel pursed his lips. “I’ve been busy. I’m still busy.”

“Well this is important-”

“Your father and I are getting a divorce,” Naomi yelled. Then, the whole room erupted into battle again. Luke yelled at his mother to be quiet, Michael tried to quell her anxieties with a hand on her arm, and Chuck groaned and put his hands on his hips. Amara was the only cool one. She slid into the room and settled down into a chair. All she needed was some popcorn and she’d be at the movie theater.

“We are _not_ getting a divorce. We can’t afford it right now.”

Amara lifted her finger into the air, “As Chuck’s sister and agent I have to say that, yes, that is true.”

“But I want a divorce,” Naomi yelled again.

“No-”

“Dad, why don’t you tell your son what’s going on,” Michael cut off Chuck as he tapped his foot impatiently.

Chuck sent his son a glare, then turned his attention to Castiel, who stood slumped against the wall next to Luke. Chuck breathed in deeply and rubbed a hand over his mouth.

“At least let the boy sit down,” Naomi called out.

“Jesus Christ dad just tell him,” Michael said.

Chuck sighed deeply like he wanted to be anywhere in the world but that apartment. Castiel knew exactly what was coming. He thought of the women on the street. “I’ve been having an affair,” Chuck said. “For a little while, well, twenty years.”

The room all muttered curses. Naomi looking like she was swallowing down a burst of tears. Castiel knew that Chuck had already told them, but the second time it was verbalized seemed to hit harder.

“The woman’s name is Lily, and we have a daughter, Hannah. She’s um…twenty.” He said the words delicately, like slowly ripping off a band aid. “I am telling all of you this because Lily is pregnant, and we’re thinking of moving to the Poconos. Your mother and I will be _separated_ not divorced, and you can all have me out of your hair.”

“More like us out of your hair,” Luke muttered. No one, not even Chuck, contested it.

The room fell silent. Castiel considered what he wanted to say long before he said it. “I know all this. I saw you, you fucking asshole.”

His family all said _what_ as a unit.

“He saw me on the street,” Chuck muttered. He held his head in shame, which seemed entirely staged.

Michael spoke up. “So that’s it? What the fuck dad? We’ve had a half-sister this whole time. Does she even know about us?”

“She doesn’t, but Lily does, and we kept it from her. To protect her. Michael, you love your kids, you gotta understand that.”

Luke slammed his fist on the wall beside him, and everyone startled. The whole room seemed to rattle. “All I’m hearing is that you have a completely other life, a whole other _world_ we didn’t even know about and you’ve been hiding it since I was- what? - six years old?”

“Son, be reasonable. It’s not a whole other world it’s just…it’s just another family.”

“No! Fuck you! Fuck all of you! I don’t give a shit if you have a daughter or some other happy life with a baby on the way. In fact, I think it’s better. _Our_ family was a shit show to begin with. We were never a family,” Luke spit out.

“Don’t say that,” Naomi said in a small voice.

“Why do you think we all left as soon as we could!”

“Can everyone shut up please,” Chuck said.

“See this just goes to show how shitty you are as a father. You ditched us for Hannah and someday you’re gonna ditch her again for some other kid you accidentally have!” Luke yelled. “I would never abandon my kids!”

Something shattered within Castiel. He reeled back, shifted his stance, balled his fist, then punched Luke straight in the face.

He hadn’t gotten into a fight in a while, but he still had a pretty good punch. Lucifer sputtered sideways, a splash of blood spurt from his nose, and he tripped on the leg of a chair. He went crashing down onto his ass.

“What the fuck was that for?” Michael yelled but didn’t help his brother up. The whole room erupted again into confused anger.

Luke wiped blood onto his sleeve.

“You know you deserve that, Luke” Castiel said, his voice like daggers, as he stared down at his brother. “You’re all on his case about shitty fathers, and not abandoning your children. You remember Kelly? Do you remember your twin sons?”

Luke froze, and stared up, wide-mouthed as Castiel. “How the fuck do you know about that?”

“Can someone please explain what the hell is going on?” Naomi said with a shaky voice.

“Their names are Jack and Bel. Did you know that?” Castiel yelled.

Lucifer finally stood and pressed his palm to his nose. “Fuck off. I did what I had to do.”

“You ditched them!”

“I had a whole other family to take care of!”

“Don’t you see how you’re a fucking hypocrite! You sound exactly like Dad!”

Luke was fuming. He got up close into Castiel’s face, and they stood almost nose to nose. “I’m gonna fucking kill you, you know that right?”

“What’s stopping you?”

“Okay boys can we settled down, please?” Amara said while she was looking at her manicure. “This seems like something that needs to be worked out between the two of you, and you should do so once there are no pressing issues at hand.”

“What else is there to know? Chuck’s leaving our lives,” Michael said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have my wife and kids to care for. Only one set of them I might add.”

“No there’s more; come back here,” Chuck demanded. “I’m selling the apartment.”

The three brother’s all groaned.

“You can’t do that,” Castiel said. “Mom lives here.”

“I’m moving her to an inpatient program. They can take care of her there.”

Castiel looked at his older brothers, who looked complaisant, but Castiel sputtered. “You- you can’t fucking do that. She’s not insane.”

“She’s unstable,” Chuck said. “You of all people know this.”

Castiel looked at his mother, who had a faraway look, staring at the carpet by her feet. “No,” he said, his voice breaking. “No. We can’t do that to her.”

“It’s happening and you can’t tell me otherwise!” Chuck screamed.

Castiel felt like he was going to burst. He looked around. Lucifer was still cradling his nose with his fingers, whisking away any drops of blood that trickled out. Michael was waiting impatiently and gazing out the window. And Castiel felt like he was on fire and no one was seeing it.

“I don’t know what I expected,” Castiel muttered. Everyone looked at him. “I don’t know what I fucking expected. Families can be so selfish. People have kids so they’re not lonely when they’re older. They think their kids will never go away because they’re obligated to stick around. It justifies disrespecting them. So, when they leave, parents either move on or deny that they treated their kids awfully, that they never listened to them, that they never understood, or even tried to. I am sick of it.”

“Castiel-”

“I’m not a part this family.”

Lucifer was the first to ignite. “You can’t fucking do that. Not now, not after everything.”

“Exactly,” Castiel said. “After everything. Jimmy was the only one who ever gave a damn about me and what I thought. And he’s gone. I have no reason to stay. Like you said Luke, there wasn’t even any family to begin with,” Castiel turned and started to head out the door.

“You walk out that door I never want to see you again. You understand? For real this time. I _never_ want to see you again,” Chuck said.

Castiel left and slammed the door behind him.

**Trouble**

Castiel stood in front of Campbell’s on Saturday night. The sun had just submerged under the skyscrapers, leaving the sky blood red. He was hesitant to knock. The sign on the door was switched to closed but inside he could hear music bumping and the muffled sound of someone singing into a microphone. He knew that his arrival was awaited, and that Dean was expecting him, but he felt nerves rip through him.

It was a symptom of losing his other half, he thought. Half of him was missing, and the feeling was even stronger after the blow up with his family earlier in the week. It was too much. His aunt had called him to keep him updated on his mother’s arrangements, but he said nothing, just listened, then hung up.

His life was like a slow-motion car crash and he couldn’t intervene. Everything was out of balance.

He missed Dean. Worry strangled him. He knew Dean had been off for weeks now, late summer was choking out the city, and Castiel couldn’t fucking take the change. The subtle shift in the air, like something in the far off distance had broken and now it was coming at him in waves, half-coherent.

He finally knocked on the door like his body worked without his brain telling it to, and he was met with a drunken looking Garth, with his arm around a comely blonde woman. “Hey, Cas-teel!” Garth mumbled through inebriated lips.

The moment his name was released, a crowd of people behind Garth cheered. Apparently, he had a reputation. _The piano man!!!_ they all yelled.

It was a group of all the same people from the Fourth of July party about a month ago. Jody was there, so was Donna, even Bobby. With the added addition of Jo, Charlie and Ellen. Jo had her arm around Charlie and Sam and Jessica stood close to the stage where Louden Swain was playing a loud Elvis song. Dean was behind the bar, looking like he was meant to be there and nowhere else.

Seeing Dean made his chest hurt. He looked fine, handsome as ever, with soft hair and a white button-up. Castiel wished he could tell what was wrong, see it written on his face, but he knew it wouldn’t be that easy.

Castiel stepped into the bar and the party resumed.

It was much like the first night he stepped into Campbell’s only familiar, which made it all the more daunting. The people here knew him, and he couldn’t hide behind anonymity.

The bartender knew him especially well. As Castiel came up to the bar and sat down on a stool, green washed over him, mingled with yellow light from the hanging fixtures.

“What can I get you?” Dean said as if they hadn’t kissed before, as if they hadn’t slept together.

Up close, he looked different. The way he held his shoulders was as if he held an invisible weight. His expression made him looked aged; his cheeks were somber and hollow like he hadn’t smiled in days.

Something was wrong.

Before Castiel could speak to him, Dean had placed a drink before him. Tom Collins, no cherry _._ Castiel felt like crying.

His chest hurt, and the more he took in breath the more each breath was cut off short, loud, like his lungs were refusing to inflate. Sharp pains sprung in the center of his forehead, his fingers felt tingly, and this static feeling moved to his wrists.

Dean hadn’t noticed. No one had. He watched Dean’s back closely, trying to focus on something: the shapes of his shoulder blades under his shirt, the laughter from the party behind him. But it all started to spiral out and any sounds were like airhorns in his head.

He moved off of the stool and stood, only to release that his legs were weak. He braced himself against the counter with two hands, knuckles white. “I…I-”

Dean turned then, and Castiel thought it must have been a coincidence because he didn’t think he had been that loud. Dean must have heard him. His eyes filled with concern, and his expression dropped.

“Cas?”

Castiel felt his knees give out and he collapsed onto the ground.

Everything was white, with splotches of yellow and reds from the lights. Every voice was a siren, but quieter now, hushed, like he was causing a scene.

Dean’s face came into vision and Castiel reached up with a hand that seemed detached. “Heart- heart-”

“Is he having a heart attack?” a voice rang out from the crowd like a whistle.

He felt hands come to his chest, two cold fingers on his pulse, a hand on his heated forehead.

“Call an ambulance.” It must have been Dean’s voice, and it sounded much huskier and more southern now than it ever had. With the cotton in Castiel’s ears, he could tell clearly now, and with conviction, that Dean certainly wasn’t from the city.

He passed out then, well, he must have. The world went from white to black.

**Manchester Minimalist Piano and Strings**

“Claire, tell your uncle what you learned today,” Jimmy said.

“I know for a fact that 36 is 6 if you have 6 of those sixes. My teacher said it’s like muffins,” Claire said.

“Oh yeah? How is like muffins?” Castiel asked.

“You have six muffins and if you have six of those six then…”

“Then?”

“It’s confusing.”

Castiel smiled and grabbed Claire from under her armpits. He hauled her up and slung her over his shoulder.

“Hey! I’m not a suitcase!”

“She’s not a suitcase, Castiel,” Jimmy said matter-of-factly. He had the hint of a smile on his face.

Castiel repositioned Claire and set her on his shoulders. She propped her elbows on the top of his head, and the little sharp bones dug in.

They strolled along the park, and just as a horse drawn carriage rode past with a loud whiny, Jimmy said something inaudible.

“What’s that?”

“I said you make a good father,” Jimmy said.

Castiel stared at his brother, like he was looking into a mirror. “Where’s that coming from?”

“Oh, don’t get all defensive,” Jimmy said. “I know you always wanted to ditch that whole _wife and kids_ life, but hey. You’re doing great with Claire.”

“You’re her father,” Castiel said. “Not me.”

“I was a shell,” Jimmy said. “Stuck in my work and my bible and…well there wasn’t much else was there?”

“Stop talking like that. You’re the better of the two of us.”

“You know that’s not true.”

Castiel scoffed. “But you once looked me in the eye and said I was going to hell, okay? When I told you that I didn’t want a wife and that I was…and I _believed_ you. I believed you.”

“I apologized long ago,” Jimmy said. “And I gave you that cross, I blessed you with it.”

“Your religion stuff scared me sometimes. It always did.”

“I was just worried about you. I still am. Not about hell or anything.”

“Then, what? Why are you worried?”

“Because I’m going to die. And I don’t want you to be alone.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know. I’m going to die and so is Amelia. It was always supposed to happen. And Claire has to be yours. Remember? I made you her legal guardian the day she was born.”

“You’re not going to die.”

Jimmy paused and looked at him after if he had new eyes. “That’s it,” he said. “I’m already dead, aren’t I?”

“Stop.”

“I died months ago.”

“But you’re so young. _I’m_ so young and I can’t be alive without you. I can’t take care of Claire. I can barely take care of myself.”

“You have to. And you’ve been doing so. You can.”

“What about Dean?”

“What _about_ Dean?”

“I’m in love with him. Am I? What if I’m not? I know I don’t want to be without him but what if everything is fake? Jimmy, I feel fake.”

“Fake?”

“I don’t feel alive.”

“Don’t you fucking say that. You love him, okay? You love him because you’re you and you’re not anyone else.”

“He’s a coping mechanism.”

“He may be. What does that matter? You just gotta figure it out. What if you’re his coping mechanism, huh? Have you thought about that? We’re all together in this shit show called life.”

“Jimmy, what do I do?”

 _Wake up_.

-

Castiel woke up in a hospital bed.

The room was tiny, and his bed was boxed in by teal curtains. He looked down at his hands, and his vision cleared. But his head felt like he was swimming. It was numb and warm from something a nurse must have given him. His left arm had a ball of gauze taped to the inner part of his elbow, and a drop of blood was coloring it.

His other arm was heavy, and when he turned, he saw a head of messy light hair pressed down onto it. The man had one arm up on the bed, and his hand was wrapped loosely around Castiel’s wrist. Castiel could feel drool on his arm.

“Dean?” he said, and his voice came out as a whisper.

Like Dean had been waiting for his response, he sprang up and looked at him. He sat up in his chair beside Castiel’s hospital bed and rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands. “Cas…damn it’s good to see those eyes of yours.”

“What happened? Did I have a heart attack?”

Dean moved his hands back up on the bed and settled them gently onto Castiel’s forearm. With his thumbs, he rubbed circles. “No. It was a panic attack.”

“Oh,” Castiel said too quickly. He looked away from Dean and down at his other arm, at the gauze. The doctors must have taken blood. “Why did that happen?”

Dean just looked at him, his eyebrowed worried, his lips parted. “Cas…when’s the last time you slept?”

“What do you mean?”

“The doctors said your stress levels were through the roof. You probably hadn’t eaten in a while either.”

“I’m…I have. I have eaten. And I slept a lot.” Castiel was stammering; reality was slippery. He focused on Dean’s hands.

Had he eaten? When was the last time he slept? He remembered making food for Claire before the party. Not feeling hungry. He remembered not feeling hungry at all for a while. At least since his break from his family. He thought of his nights, staring at the ceiling. Why didn’t it worry him? Why didn’t it register?

Dean’s frown deepened. “Cas, you…you have to take care of yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

Dean shook his head and looked down. Castiel glanced down at himself. He was wearing a ratty hospital gown.

“Look, um,” Dean started to say. He drew back his arms and rubbed a hand over his mouth. “You’ve been out for almost a day.”

“What?”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “Your family stopped by. Well, at least Gabe and your mother. We haven’t heard from your dad though or your other brothers, but your aunt was here a couple hours ago.”

Castiel’s head started to hurt again, trying to process it. “And Claire?”

Dean nodded. “She’s okay. Her and Kelly came around. Jack and Bel too. Even your friend Missouri. Cas, everyone has been here for you. All our friends; all the people from Sam’s party.”

It struck him, that he ruined the party. The guilt got heavier

Castiel regarded Dean closely. His clothes were rumbled, and his hair was greasy. It was spiked up in dark strands. He had dark circles under his eyes. “How long have you been here?”

“The whole time,” Dean said.

Castiel closed his eyes tight. “Dean-”

“Listen to me,” Dean cut him off. “I need you to understand that I never would have…you know, done anything with you if I had known how bad it was.”

“What?” Surprisingly, Castiel felt the first wisps of anger form within him. “What are you talking about? You think I was out of my mind the whole time we were together? Or whatever we were. No, Dean, no. I…I’ve been okay, I just- why would you even think that?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Dean shrugged his shoulders. He couldn’t meet Castiel’s eyes. “I just feel like I…” Dean paused, took in a sharp breath. His eyes were shiny. “I feel like a prick okay?”

“Why do _you_ feel like a prick?”

“Because I care about you. Hell, I fucking…I fucking need you. You changed things for me, you changed everything, you- and I, I put that weight on you, in my mind I put that weight on you. You know…this whole summer has been the best part of my life because I met you. I want you to understand that. I want you to understand what you mean to me.”

“Dean…you’re not making sense.”

Dean pursed his lips and looked down at his palms. “Doesn’t matter. I think I’m going away for a while.”

Castiel’s heart dropped.

“I think…um…it would be best,” Dean paused for a long time, like he was contemplating something. His throat bobbed. “I don’t wanna push you.” It was a whisper.

“Dean…you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Your goddamn brother died, Cas. Jesus Christ. I couldn’t fucking imagine what that’s like, and I was an idiot to think you were okay. Cause if Sam died? Jesus…I’d…you _know_ what I’d do.” Dean said sharply and Castiel’s eyes snapped up to his face. Dean met his eyes, and a flash of pain instantly shot through them. “This kind of stuff…it needs time. And I need to give you time. Cas you had a fucking breakdown. You scared me to death. You scared everyone.”

Castiel felt tears start to pile in his eyes without his consent.

He realized how numb he had been, and how much the world had been dulled. There were flashes of color, of light, of happiness. But, right now it all came barreling back: the pain, the reality, the heaviness. The bandage had been torn off from over his eyes.

“My dad is sick. I’m sure Sam told you. He’s reached a pretty low point and I’m gonna try to get him through rehab. So, I- um, I’m going to Kansas.”

Selfish. He’s fucking selfish. Castiel wanted to scream at him, tell him he’s an asshole, that he’s ruining everything, that without him nothing made him feel alive.

“I don’t know who I am, Cas. I know I once told you that this city is mine. That the bar is mine, and that that’s who I am. But I have no idea what any of that means. I never wanted it. Sammy’s going to California and…I don’t belong here anymore. Cas, I know you feel the same way. I know you feel like the whole fucking world has it figured out and you don’t. We have to…I think- I think this could be good.”

Castiel didn’t say anything. He just looked at the gauze on his arm; it was almost purple now with thick dried blood.

“I’m sorry, Cas.”

He kept silent.

Dean got up and left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a fic about piano music of course I had to add THEE Comptine d'un autre été
> 
> Come be nice to me (please) on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/green-eyes-and-classic-rock)


	11. Fugue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for three to six voices, each voice enters at different times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: some (but not graphic) depiction of physical abuse. It's towards the end of the section called "Goldberg Variations" as a heads up.

“Nearly everybody has his box of secret pain, shared with no one.”

― John Steinbeck

&

“If we meet each other in Hell, it’s not Hell.”

― Geoffrey Hell

**The Seasons**

It rained for most of September. And it was getting colder. It hadn’t been cold since before he met Dean. Or before Jimmy died.

Castiel wore a coat his brother bought him as a gift for getting into West Point: a tan trench coat. It settled around his body like a bird’s wings. He felt sheltered, despite being just a layer away from the outside world.

It was a usual morning, or what has become a usual morning for him. He dropped Claire off at school. She had protested, of course, but the prospect of seeing Kaia made her feel better. It had been a long summer, and she felt better going back to school, knowing that the storm of questioning faces had probably faded away by now. She had only been back for a week, but one day she met him outside with a faint smile on her face. “No one looked at me,” she said to him. “I was invisible.”

Castiel’s day job was at a hotel uptown where he played piano. It was a gig in the lobby, which he found ironic. It was exactly what he didn’t want to do but knew he’d eventually end up doing. He wanted to tell Dean about it and see his face; he wanted to witness the arsenal of jokes Dean would prepare to unleash.

It was a swanky hotel near the Plaza, but it wasn’t the Plaza at all. It was just trying to be. There was a gold carpet with a tinge of yellow, and a plastic-looking chandelier. The piano that Castiel occupied was an obnoxious white, way too bright and clean. The plastic keys stuck ever so often and made him hit notes extra hard, drawing midnight people out of their drunken states. He missed Dean’s piano, or rather, Benny’s. The worn, smooth wood and the yellowish keys made rich sounds that made hurt his heart to think about.

After work, he’d shed his fancy clothes, remnants of West Point, and put on sweatpants and Dean’s Henly. It was still clinging to Castiel’s wardrobe, and now more often settled warmly between Castiel’s bed sheets waiting up for him while he’s out.

September was flying by, and Dean was long gone.

**Lonesome Town**

He reminded no one of his birthday. Claire’s birthday was in five days, so he hoped that his would be overshadowed by her excitement. Another part of him figured that everyone remembered his birthday, but rather thought of it as his twin’s birthday. They’d treat it as a day of mourning, which was better than forced joy.

Nonetheless, bright and early on the 18th of September, he was awoken by Claire jumping up and down on his bed and singing at the top of her lungs. She was screaming ‘happy birthday’ so off pitch that it made Castiel want to play something on the piano to retune his ear.

“Good morning!” Claire yelled. “You thought you’d be sneaky? You thought I wouldn’t remember it was your birthday?” Her voice shook while she jumped.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t,” Castiel groaned.

“I think we should make pancakes! I don’t really know how but I’ll help you!”

Castiel laughed to himself and tried to pull the covers up over his head but Claire kept stepping on the blankets before he could grab them. “Get up, Dad!”

Castiel froze. He slowly opened his eyes and looked up at Claire. She had her hands on her hips and reminded him so much of Amelia when he met her in middle school. A little younger of course. And the pout was all Jimmy. It made his heart ache. They just stared at each other for a moment.

“Chocolate pancakes?” Castiel asked.

Claire suddenly smiled and it was brighter than the white light from the sun in their window.

Ten minutes later the first pancake was sizzling on the pan and Claire was holding a small handful of chocolate chips, waiting eagerly to plop them onto the batter. Castiel looked down at her. Her hair was golden, extraordinarily messy, and flattened on one side from her pillow. But her face was so bright and happy that he almost forgot what she looked like normally. On any other day, he could see that she was just floating along like a little ghost, feeling nothing. He was getting worried about her and knew that he was the only one who noticed how she felt because he felt exactly the same way. But, today was different. He could feel the way the air was lighter. The apartment was cradling them in and protecting them. He couldn’t understand why.

Maybe it was because the world was so quiet, and that was so rare. The traffic outside was drowned out by the sizzling pancakes.

Once the pancakes were done, the phone rang. It was Crowley on the other end, which admittedly wasn’t one the first people Castiel wanted to talk to on his birthday but nonetheless, he was lulled out of his happy dream state by his landlord’s brittle Scottish accent.

“You have a package,” Crowley said. “And that’s not a euphemism although I would think you are rather…gifted in that department.”

Castiel wanted to barf.

The phone rattled again. “Are you coming down or what? I’m not delivering it to your doorstep, your highness.”

“I’ll be down in a minute,” Castiel finally said and hung up the phone. Claire raised an eyebrow at him, completely unaware of the chocolate smeared around her lips and somehow on her forehead. “Keep eating your pancakes. I’ll be right back,” he told her.

Crowley was waiting in the lobby of the apartment with a thin package in his hands. The cardboard was slightly dented on one side and water stained in the corner. Crowley had a strange look on his face, and when Castiel stepped up to him, he handed over the package. “You seemingly have an admirer,” Crowley said. “Though they didn’t put their name.”

Castiel held the delicate package in his hand. It was almost completely discreet, but the secret was unavoidably blown out of the water by the return address. Lawrence, Kansas.

“I know who it’s from,” Castiel told Crowley, mystified. He looked up at his landlord to see that he was incredibly uninterested.

“You need anything else? I have to get back to reading this month’s Vogue.”

Castiel shook his head and went back up the stairs.

Claire was standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom when he re-entered the apartment. She was frantically dabbing her shirt, where a large stain of chocolate was forming. She turned around and gazed down at the package. “What did you get?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “But I think it’s from Dean.”

“For your birthday!” Claire said, forgetting the chocolate on her shirt.

“You need help with that?”

Claire pouted. “My mom always knew how to get out stains.”

“You need bleach,” Castiel said. He grabbed Claire for her armpits and lifted her up on to the edge of the sink. “Not just water.”

“Do you think the shirt will be ruined? My dad gave it to me.”

Castiel ignored the pang he felt in his chest. “No,” Castiel pulled out a bottle of bleach from the back of the cabinet below the sink. “It won’t be ruined.”

“It’s his birthday today too,” she said. “My mom and I always made him a cake every year.”

Castiel silently dabbed her shirt with bleach for a few moments. He didn’t know what to say and he felt stiff. He turned on the faucet beside her when it came to him. “When your father and I were growing up, your Uncle Michael would bring us to an aquarium every year on our birthday. We’d go to the big one in Brooklyn, and my favorite part was the touch pool when you got to feel all the scales on the fish and how slimy the stingrays were.”

“Ew!” Claire squealed.

“You’d love it. We should go today.” He wanted to take it back just as quickly as he said it. But Claire’s face lit up, and he knew he’d have to do this for her.

“Open your package first!”

He glanced down at the package, which he placed on the edge of the bathtub. Claire tapped on his shoulder, wanting to get down from the counter. Together, they went to the kitchen and Castiel pulled out scissors from the drawer. He sliced open the top of the package while Claire watched with awe. Inside was a mini record, one with just one song.

“Who is that?” Claire said as she pointed to the young man on the cover of the record. Castiel recognized him instantly. He had slicked back hair, a bright button-down shirt and he looked exactly like the kind of guy Dean would make fun of at the bar and then water down his beer.

“Ricky Nelson,” Castiel said. “I thought Dean didn’t like him. Sam did. But Dean claimed that him and Sam had strictly different tastes in music.”

“Maybe he changed his mind!”

Castiel turned over the record to see a note taped to the back. He sank into a chair at the dinner table and held the note gently between his fingers. It was a quick note, just a scrawl really. The handwriting was slightly messy, and jagged. He read it carefully.

Cas,

Do you ever feel wrong?

I think I finally get what you mean. Really, I’ve understood it all along.

Happy Birthday, Cas.

-Dean

P.S. Lonesome Town. I live there now.

Dean feels wrong. Castiel remembered when he had said the same thing to Dean. It was months ago, before Jimmy died, before he even moved into his apartment in Greenwich. He felt like his life was going nowhere no matter what measures he took to change it. Life still didn’t make sense.

He hadn’t heard the song before. Lonesome Town.

Dean had given him a record player a while ago, when Castiel had first moved into his apartment. He walked over to the neglected record player and wiped off the thin layer of dust that had formed on the plastic lid. He clicked in the new record, set the needle, and the song began harmoniously. It was a slow guitar and had a choir in the background.

_There’s a place where lovers go, to cry their troubles away. And they call it Lonesome Town._

“I like it,” Claire said as if she had materialized beside him. He hadn’t noticed that she had climbed up on the kitchen table. “But he’s so sad.”

“He’s lonely,” Castiel said.

“Why?”

“Someone broke his heart.”

“But he’s just whining. He’s just making himself sad. He could just go and talk to that person. Then, boom! It’s fixed.”

“It’s not that simple.”

Claire sighed and jumped down from the table. She went to the couch and pulled out her book from between the cushions.

Castiel let the song play another time, then another, then a fourth until Claire started to complain.

But he couldn’t stop listening to it. It was so uncharacteristically Dean. Dean, who was so put together, fond of strong whiskey, wouldn’t be caught dead relishing such a sappy song. Such a slow, sappy song. It was almost ironic, like some joke Dean was trying to pull. Around the fifth and a half time it played, Castiel just started laughing. It was like his whole goddamn life sputtered out on the table in front of him, being spun by the record machine.

Why couldn’t it be simple?

“Can you at least turn it down!” Claire whined.

As if on a trigger, Castiel moved the needle off the record.

“Let’s go to the aquarium,” Castiel said monotonously. He couldn’t dig himself out of his thoughts.

He remembered those times growing up when him and Jimmy would be taken to the aquarium. It was a rare moment when Michael didn’t ignore them. He’d pack them up in his car and head over the Brooklyn bridge. One year in particular, when the draft ended and Michael just missed it by a hair, Michael must have spent a hundred dollars buying them shirts, figurines, candies, really anything they wanted from the aquarium. Michael was so happy to avoid the war, and really his luck hasn’t left him since. It was the best birthday of Castiel’s life. The touch pool was crowded with fish and surrounded by little kids pushing and butting heads. Castiel remembered seeing a big angry kid reach into the water, yank out a golden fish, and hold it in his fist like a baseball. The fish thrashed and squirmed and the kid dropped it on the ground. All the kids around him scattered except Castiel, who stood there, the fish wiggling near his feet.

On impulse, and because he was a snotty little kid at the time, Castiel remembered lifting his foot and preparing to stomp down, as if the fish was a spider on the ground.

“Don’t step on that, Castiel!” Michael had warned, and he lifted Castiel by the armpits. “Big plans for that fish. Every living being has a purpose.”

Castiel never understood why his brother said that. As time went on, he figured it was because Michael felt as though he had a brush with death, and he came off clean. He felt as if he’d been touched by the divine.

But really, it was just a freaking fish.

Castiel felt like a poor version of Michael as him and Claire piled into the back seat of a cab. They got to the aquarium as it was reaching sunset.

He took Claire to all the usual spots he used to love. The room filled to the top with tropical fish, the tank of jelly fish, the shark section. Castiel must have stood for ten minutes straight, looking at the jelly fish floating around under the light. He stared until Claire yanked on his sleeve. “I wanna see the place where you can touch the icky fish!”

Castiel smiled. He took her hand and they walked down the hall towards the sign that said _Lonesome Town_ …wait. No. Castiel shook his head. It said _Touch Pool._

He guided Claire over to where kids her age or a bit older were leaning over the side of a glass tank, their fingers gliding through the water. Claire ran ahead and peered inside. Castiel read the sign by the touch pool. It said _Welcome to Lonesome T-_

“What,” Castiel hissed at himself. He blinked and the sign said. “Do not pick up fish.” That sign must have been put there 12 years ago when that angry kid dropped that fish on the floor.

Even though Claire had a screwed up disgusted look on her face, Castiel could tell she was delighted.

Claire turned around and looked up at him. “Bathroom?” she said.

Castiel nodded.

They found the bathroom in the back of the room and the sign said _Lonesome-_

“Claire, honey. Be quick okay? Don’t you wanna see the sea turtles?”

Claire jumped for joy then ran into the women’s bathroom. Castiel sighed and leaned back against the opposite wall. He stared at the sign. _Women’s Bathroom._ He blinked. Then, it said _Lonesome Town._

“I’m going crazy,” Castiel muttered under his breath.

He closed his eyes, trying to get the words out of his mind.

“Hello? Hello!” Claire said. Castiel opened his eyes to see her standing in front of him, her arms crossed. “Your brain is somewhere far away.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows at her. “Oh, is it?”

“You seem so out of it,” Claire said, casually. “Turtles!”

Castiel signed.

The turtle exhibit was called _Lonesome Town_. The entrance to the gift shop was called _Lonesome Town._ The cashier said the price of the jelly fish stuffed animal was _Lonesome Town._

“Can we go get ice cream?” Claire said. “It is your birthday after all.”

“Of course,” Castiel said. He looked down at Claire. It scared him half to death how much his heart ached when he looked at her. She had her father’s chin, her mother’s golden hair and full cheeks. She had Naomi’s eyes. The bright blue. They were also his eyes. Claire had his eyes.

She was his family. When he thought about her, he thought about the drawing she made months ago. It was her standing between two men, holding both of their hands. One had messy black hair with bright blue eyes dotted with colored pencil and the other had spikey hair and green dots for eyes.

His heart ached.

He stopped in his tracks. Claire looked up at him. “What’s wrong?”

Castiel couldn’t help it. He crumbled to the ground. Right there on front steps of the aquarium. People bustled around him but paid no mind. Others sat on the steps as well, eating and talking. He couldn’t move. He put his face in his hands. “Nothing…I just…need a minute.”

Claire put a small hand on his shoulder. “You miss him.”

Castiel thought he was talking about Jimmy. It was her father after all. He real father. “Um…well, yes.”

“I mean Dean,” Claire said, as if she was reading his mind.

Castiel’s eyes shot up to her. Claire’s eyes were huge, and blue, and glossy. “I miss him too. Why did he have to go?”

Castiel reached out and wrapped his arms around her torso. Claire put her arms around his shoulders. “People just go away. And there’s no reason for it. It just happens.”

“He’s not dead,” Claire said.

Castiel froze. “You’re right,” he said slowly. He could have sworn his heart stopped beating

“You should go find him. Get him back here.”

Claire was so young. He pulled away from her and held her chin. “You are brilliant. And kind. But I can’t do that. I live here. I work here. You’re here.”

Claire blew a raspberry and waved her hand in the hair. “I’ll be fine on my own. I’m super mature. I can stay with Missouri. Or Kelly. Or at Kaia’s house.”

It was too much. “Claire, people can’t just drop their kids off at other people’s houses.”

“If that person needs to go rescue someone they love, then, yes, that person _can_ drop off their kid at someone’s house.”

Castiel’s mouth went agape. “How do you…”

“You need to go!” she cut him off.

Despite Castiel’s best wishes, he felt tears prick his eyes. “You’re bossy.”

Claire crossed her arms. “Is that a nice thing to be?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “You’re like a little powerhouse.”

“And kind, and brilliant you might add.”

“Let’s go home, okay?”

“You need to pack!”

**Stupid Cupid**

He spent the whole night packing and unpacking and packing again for a trip he had no idea if he even wanted to take. The next morning, he was woken up in an exhausted haze by a knock on the door.

“Crowley I really don’t have time for your weekly inspections and frankly I think they’re unethical,” he mumbled, then opened the door.

The man standing there was taller than Crowley, but not by much, and he wore a corny hat and had the beginnings of a mustache. “Gabriel?”

“Hey lil bro,” Gabriel said, with a sly smile on his face. Without hesitation, he came into the apartment, and Castiel closed the door. Gabriel stood in the center of the space, watching Castiel closely. 

Castiel squinted at him. “I thought you were back in L.A.”

Gabriel pouted. “I came back after some soul searching, a lot of tequila, and well…mom,”

“Mom?”

“She called. Can you believe that? Why the fuck didn’t you tell me dad was gonna put her in a nut house?”

“I…” Castiel rubbed his eyes, frantically trying to get sleep out of them to have this conversation. He stood in his rumpled sweatpants and Dean’s Henley, feeling self-conscious in front of Gabriel’s sophisticated eye. “Frankly, I thought you didn’t care much.”

“About mom?” Gabriel almost looked offended. “Alright listen…I’ll give you my God’s honest truth. I didn’t care. In fact, if you asked me a year ago if I’d consider saving mom from institutionalization, I’d laugh in your face. But…with everything that has happened with our brother.”

Gabriel quieted, which was rare. He let the conversation grow and ruminate between them.

When Castiel didn’t respond, Gabriel clicked his tongue and continued. “I’m moving here actually. Got a nice place uptown. I talked to Kali and I think her and the kids are really gonna like it. I missed it here, you know? And I...well, I wanna be here for you.”

Castiel titled his head. “The last time we talked…wasn’t exactly civil.”

“That was months ago, Cassie. I have to admit…I was a jerk. I shouldn’t have complained about taking care of mom. You had your plate full.”

“I should still apologize…” Castiel supplied, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“No. You don’t need to apologize. I’m the one who needs to apologize. You know, all our lives you were the one who took care of mom the most. I mean really the only one. I should have seen that. I’m sorry.”

Castiel stared at his brother. He was never the most touchy-feely feelings guy. But he had his moments. They were mostly laced in jokes or satire, but when they were really serious, they meant something huge.

“And I heard about everything that’s gone down with our dad. I think part of me knew this whole time something was up. That he reeked of infidelity and all that. That was brave of you, to cut them out like that.”

“Well, I don’t want our dad…or Luke for that matter, to be in my life. Not even Michael. These last couple of months have made that clear now.”

Gabriel stood awkwardly and adjusted his hat. “You’re not gonna cut me out though right? I mean, I wouldn’t blame you. I’ve been an absolute ass.”

Castiel let a couple minutes pass, pulling at the hem of Dean’s- well, his- shirt and running a thumb over the seam. He looked back up at his brother. “No I suppose I won’t.”

Gabriel nodded his head at that, satisfied. “So the great Novak family has finally shattered. Is it what Jimmy would have wanted?”

Castiel pressed his lips together. “It’s not exactly aligned with Christian values but…yes.”

A thick silence settled over the apartment. Claire was still sleeping, but with the door to her room cracked open, they could both hear her breathing evenly.

Gabriel shoved his hands into his pockets and swiveled around, taking in the sight of the apartment. “What are you doing here, kid? I was hoping you’d answer the door, but I was also hoping you’d be out and about.”

“Where would I be?” Castiel narrowed his eyes.

Gabriel gave him an incredulous look. “Campbell’s, man. I thought you loved it there.”

“Oh,” Castiel rubbed the back of his neck. “I um...had a bit of a falling out with the owner.”

“That Dean guy? Fix it.”

Castiel gritted his teeth. “It is not that simple. I…well, he’s gone. He left to go take care of his dad. It’s…it’s complicated. I was thinking of going to visit him but I-”

“Go,” Gabriel said, his face sober. Before Castiel could abject, Gabriel continued. “Cas...I may not know much about keeping relationships. I kind of abandoned you all.”

Castiel opened his mouth to defend him, although he wasn’t even sure if it was warranted. Before he could say anything, Gabriel cut him off.

“No. I did. But, that’s not the point. I may not know this guy too well, but I do know that _you_ don’t just go caring about people willy nilly. You’re the most stubborn-ass person I know.”

Castiel stared at him, not knowing what to say.

“Castiel, you’re my brother and I love you. But, you’re a mess. You gotta figure out your life man. You have to figure out who you are. Cause you’re not Jimmy. And you’re not me. And you’re certainly not Dad. I see you as Castiel...and so does-”

“Dean,” Castiel said, interrupting Gabriel. His brother nodded. “Where is all this coming from?” Castiel asked.

“Well, I haven’t been around for a good nine years to be a big brother, so I might as well cram in all my big brothering now.”

“You’re fucking weird, man.”

“No. You know what’s weird? That you’re still fucking here. I’ll take care of Claire, okay? I got a fresh new apartment. She’ll love it. She can meet her cousins and I promise they won’t eat her alive.”

“I don’t know-”

“Castiel you’re fucking killing me. What do you want?”

“What?” Castiel crossed his arms over his chest.

“Has anyone ever asked you that?”

 _Dean has_.

He knew exactly what he wanted. But he wasn’t about to tell his brother. When he looked up at him, however, Gabriel was watching him like he knew some semblance of the answer.

“Go you idiot,” Gabriel said.

**Race With the Devil**

Castiel tentatively left Claire with Gabriel. He felt as though he was being a bit too protective, but he told himself Claire will be okay.

Claire took one look at Gabriel’s new penthouse apartment and said, “Oh, I’ll be _very_ okay.”

With a pat on Castiel’s shoulder, Gabriel bought him a train ticket out to Jersey. The plan was to pick up a car from Bobby.

Castiel didn’t know how to drive. Sure, he practiced in parking lots sometimes, but he’d never even left the city. He had no reason to learn.

And yes, the thought crossed his mind. In fact, it crossed his mind many times. His brother died in a car.

Gabriel had mentioned that he could take a greyhound bus and avoid all the needless anxiety.

But a strange part of Castiel felt as though he needed to prove himself in this way. He needed to be in a car, overcome that fear, and begin to sever himself from the pain and grief he’s felt since Jimmy’s death.

It was gonna be a long drive.

“You’ll need to fill ‘er with gas a couple times on the way there. And make sure when you start the car you really give it a punch. The brakes are great, but make sure you step hard on ‘em. This car ain’t gonna be a smooth ride, but that’s just how she is.”

Bobby was giving him the tour of a 1950 tan Lincoln Continental Cosmopolitan that he had lying around. He kicked the tire. “You better thank me, boy. This ol’ thing has some good parts I coulda sold.”

“Thank you, Bobby,” Castiel said as he leaned awkwardly against the hood of the car. “This is a lifesaver.”

“You know why I’m helping you out, boy?” he said. “I know Dean won’t come back on his own. Sam’s all the way in California. Dean is stubborn. When he thinks he’s right, he’ll never turn around. And John…well, I’ve known John for most of my life. He’ll manipulate and stomp on that kid till he’s hollow. Dean needs some talking to and it can’t be from me. It can’t be anyone but you.”

“Bobby,” Castiel said. “Do you know why he ran away? I mean I know his dad is not in good shape and all. But, I mean…why he _really_ ran away.”

Bobby shrugged. “Dean has his reasons. They build and build and then he snaps.”

Castiel pouted down at the car. “I can’t help think this is my fault.”

“Thinking that would be a disservice for both of you.”

Castiel’s gaze snapped over to Bobby. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re the best friend he’s ever had. You’re good for each other, you know? Equals. He needs you. Now go before I drown in all this sweetness.”

Castiel took the keys from Bobby and gave him a soft smile. “Again, I can’t thank you enough.”

“Just get Dean to pull his head out of his ass and get back here. He’s the best unofficial employee I got.”

“I’ll try,” Castiel said.

**Love Me Tender**

Driving was truly terrifying. Bobby made him drive around the countryside for a bit. He drove through a small town, past farms and big fields. He started to get confident and raced down the long stretches of road back to Bobby’s house way over the speed limit. It felt freeing. With the window down, and the cool earl autumn breeze coming in, he felt comfortable. No other cars were around. He was sober.

The drive to Kansas was estimated to be nearly twenty hours. Before leaving, Jody stopped by in a frantic rush of gratefulness and anxiety, pushed a bag of peanut butter sandwiches into his hands and said, “Bring him home.”

Castiel figured he’d try to make the least stops as possible. Bobby gave him the address of a couple motels he’d crashed at before, on his way to New Jersey a few years back. 

He took off down the highway.

On the car radio, Elvis played. 

**Blue in Green**

Lawrence was a strange little city. It almost looked like it grew straight out the flat ground, flat as far as the eye can see. There was a new looking park in the center of town, a classic looking diner, and it bustled with young families and teenagers.

“There’s a place Dean used to pick up some work at. It’s called Turner’s Garage. It’s in the center of town. You can’t miss it. Dean will be there, trust me,” Bobby had said.

Castiel parked the car by a big church. He looked up at it, feeling mocked almost. He was named after an angel or was named to sound like one himself. Would the church condemn him now? Him, trying to track down the man he loves? Probably. But if there was a God, he wouldn’t. Maybe God was just this: love in itself.

He pocketed the keys, wrapped his coat tighter around his body, and started walking down the street. There was a square park down the street, with nice trees and a gazebo. For it being September, it was still sunny, but the wind was picking up.

Castiel sat down on a bench. The drive was fucking exhausting, and he ate his last peanut butter sandwich the night before. Money was tight, but he could maybe spare a coffee and a warm meal at the dinner he passed.

Jay Bird’s diner. It looked pretty packed from the rush for breakfast. There was even a line out the door. Castiel stood, put his hands in his pockets, and glanced across the street.

And there it was.

Turner’s Garage.

Dean.

**Rebel Rouser**

Within the twenty minutes it took to get a cup of coffee from the diner, and run back down the street, he had devised a plan. It was probably not a very good plan, but more of a plan than he’s had the whole trip.

He was rattling with nerves.

He got in his car and moved it up a block, turning right into an open spot in Turner’s garage. Out front, there were a couple cars stripped down to their frames, and a tall black man communing with customers. He didn’t give him a second glance as Castiel parked his car and killed the engine. The man waved the customers goodbye and then walked over to Castiel’s car. Castiel started panicking, as he realized he had no excuse for being here.

The man, who Castiel assumed was the owner, tapped his window. Castiel rolled it down. The guy, looking unimpressed and a bit perturbed, leaned down and propped his arms up on Castiel’s car door.

“You Castiel?”

Castiel instantly felt a hot flash of nerves go through him. “Um…I yes. How-”

“You weren’t expecting that huh? My friend Bobby called. Told me some nervous-looking nerdy guy was gonna show up in this junker,” the man said, and stroked the roof of the car. He then stuck his hand through the window for Castiel to shake. “Name’s Rufus.”

“Turner?” Castiel said, taking his hand. Rufus nodded. “Well I’m…I guess you know.”

“You’re here to reel Dean back in?” Rufus said.

Castiel blinked. “Excuse me?”

“To bring him home.”

“Right. Yes.” _Home._ “I suppose that is my mission.”

Rufus gave him a half-smile and then stepped away from the car. He prompted for Cas to get out. “He’s inside.”

**Don’t Be Cruel**

Castiel slowly walked through the doorway of the little body shop. It had a small counter, cluttered with old papers and forgotten pencils. Rufus kept a modest ship, but not exactly a tight one. The floor was dusted with dirt, and rust crawled up the windowsills, the door hinges.

Music was swelling through the air, coming from a garage in the back. Castiel peered through the back door. He heard tools clinking together, Elvis blaring, and grunting from a clearly frustrated mechanic. Castiel followed the sound.

There was a man lying on his back under an ugly gray car. He was tapping his foot to the music, grunting as he tuned the car, occasionally reaching out and grabbing a new tool. Faintly, Castiel could hear him mumbling along to the lyrics of the song.

He recognized the boots, the jeans, the muffled voice, the grunting. He knew the crooked knees, and the freckled hands, the bulky knuckles. It hit him like a goddamn train.

He cleared his throat.

Dean seemed to start, and there was a bang like he smacked his head against the car above him. “OW!” Dean grunted but settled down and continued working. “Owners out front. Whoever you are, your car better be in a fucking sailor’s knot if you came to me. What do you need?”

“What do I need?” Castiel began. He could see Dean still. “Well, for starters, I need my old job back.”

Two hands gripped the edges of the frame and then Dean slid himself out from under the car. His expression alone made Castiel want to melt into a puddle. He had streaks of motor oil on his forehead, his cheekbones. His eyes were startled and so, _so_ green. It killed him.

“Cas?”

Castiel pushed past the fear, and the nerves, balled his fists and continued to speak. “And I need Claire, and Gabriel, and Sam and Charlie. I need curtains for my apartment, come to think of it. In fact, I probably just need to move. I need more coffee, frankly. And I desperately need a warm meal.” 

Dean propped himself up on his elbows. He peered up at Cas with a serious, sober expression.

“Oh, and the car Bobby lent me has been making this rattling noise for 50 miles. I suppose I need you to fix that,” Castiel said, trying to seem as casual as possible.

Dean rose his eyebrows, then took a deep breath. “I can…um. Come look at it. I guess.”

Dean followed as Castiel made his way back out to the front of the shop, then outside. The town was chilled by the autumn afternoon. Sunset would begin soon.

Rufus looked over and nodded his head at Dean, who in turn gave a short wave. They made their way over to where Castiel’s car was parked.

Dean whistled. “Bobby really did you dirty, huh?”

“I think it was very kind of him to spare a vehicle for me,” Castiel said.

Dean circled the car, then squatted down and peered through the wheel’s spokes. “Have you been riding the breaks on this thing?” Dean asked. “Did Bobby tell you to do that? Jesus Christ. You can’t just ride ‘em then slam on them when you need to stop. This is an old car, you gotta take it slow or it’ll fall apart underneath you.”

“I didn’t know,” Castiel said. “Haven’t driven in a long time.”

“That’s apparent,” Dean said, then he turned and looked up at Cas. He stopped. Realization dawned on his face. “Oh…” he said. “Of course, you haven’t driven.”

Castiel gave him a small smile. “I felt like getting out of the city. Needed some fresh air and thought out west was a good place to go. Nothing made sense there anymore.”

Dean stood up and moved to open the hood. “Why’s that?” he asked, quietly, refusing to look Castiel in the eye.

“It’s been missing something,” Castiel said, then paused, watching the side of Dean’s face. Dean clenched his jaw. “Well, someone.”

Dean pulled on something, tightened some bolt with his fingers, dusted off something else. He closed the hood and started to circle around to the passengers’ side. Castiel followed, watching his face.

“Who?” Dean asked, finally.

“Well,” Castiel began. “He was someone I didn’t like at first because he seemed so cool, so put together. It was like the city was him and he was the city. Everyone I grew up with, everyone I moved away from, gravitated to him. He had this spirit about him. He cared so much about everyone and every single little thing. Then, he left. He disappeared like he was never there, but everyone missed him. Everyone felt weird. The city felt weird. Tired and sluggish and gray. Like I said, nothing made sense without him.”

Dean was staring down at a small nick in the paint job on the car. He was silent and still. Then, all of the sudden, he started walking towards Rufus, who was standing in front of a dapper-looking couple across the parking lot. “Rufus!” Dean called out. “I’m taking off. I’ll take more hours tomorrow.”

“For heaven’s sake, Dean, go. I don’t give a crap.”

Dean grabbed a towel from that was draped over the hood of a car. He whipped the grease off his face, rolled down his sleeves, put fingers through his hair. Then, he started walking down the street.

Cas was unsure if Dean wanted him to follow. “Dean?”

“You think I’m the city huh? That that’s where I belong?”

Castiel didn’t move.

“Come see who I am, Cas.”

**Goldberg Variations**

“I ate pancakes at that diner every Sunday morning,” Dean said, pointing to the classic diner across the street, the one Castiel stopped by earlier. He had no idea the significance it had for Dean. “The owner gave them to us for free because he knew how poor we were, and he had a soft spot for Sam and me.”

Castiel walked beside Dean as he excavated the memories of the town he grew up in. All Castiel could do was watch their shadows grow longer and try not to fall harder for Dean.

“And that’s where I shoplifted for the first time,” Dean said, and pointing two fingers at a small family-owned pharmacy. “Sam needed aspirin because he used to get really bad headaches when he was little. Dad never had the money to buy it. So…”

It almost looked like Dean was ashamed, like he was prodding an old scar, showing it to someone new.

“And I lost my virginity in that park over there,” Dean said, and he snapped back into a playful mood. He gave Cas a mischievous smile. “Her name was Amanda, I think. Then she dumped be for the quarterback.”

Dean turned and pointed to a bustling grocery store. “I had my first job there before Turner’s. They caught me stealing peanut butter and fired me.”

When Dean looked down the street, his face lit up. “Sam and I used to go to that movie theater all the time. We snuck into any movie that was playing. In hindsight, we probably saw a bunch of stuff we were too young to watch. But those are my best memories.”

Castiel followed Dean down the road, listening silently, walking in stride. Dean looked like he was stepping back in time, falling back in love with a town that sometimes welcomed him, and sometimes did not.

They moved beyond downtown, and into neighborhoods. Dean gestured to the long street they were walking on. “Down this road is where I learned how do drive.” He pointed to a fire hydrant a couple houses down. “I almost smacked right into that. I was laughing so hard, but then my dad socked me in the eye.” Dean pointed to his right eye as if the black eye was still there. Castiel winced.

They walked down the street. Dean stayed silent, and the sun dropped beyond the distant buildings. Castiel wondered if people were watching them from their houses, wondering why they were walking in the middle of the road, knowing their secrets. The densely residential, suburban-type area made Castiel’s skin crawl. Too many empty spaces, not enough light. It was getting cold, and the sky was gray.

“This is the house I spent the first four years of my life in,” Dean said. Castiel realized that he had stopped before a light green house, with dark shutters, and nice front steps. The lights were on upstairs. It wasn’t a perfect house, and Cas had seen ones vastly more lavish, but it was sensible.

He looked over at Dean, and his expression was distant. He shoved his hands in his pockets, compressing his body from the cold. He looked so heartbroken, hopeless even. The house cut through the shadows of the night, it’s bright paint like a beacon.

“I loved it,” Dean said. “Those four years. I remember bits and pieces. Just moments really. I thought this house was perfect, you know? I wanted to live in it for the rest of my life. But I guess it wasn’t that great of a house because some faulty wiring made it go up in flames. My mother died in that upstairs bedroom.” Dean pointed up to the illuminated room. Castiel felt his stomach drop.

Dean stood silently, motionless, and surveyed the house for a moment. It was like he did this every night, making sure all was normal.

He turned and kept moving on down the street. A lot of the houses seemed like they were going to sleep, as the blue darkness filled the town. Dim shadows were casted by the moon. They walked in silence for a while, and Castiel could see his breath swirl before him. Dean had his hands still shoved in his pockets, and Castiel wished he could press up against Dean for warmth. There was no protection from the chilled air.

Castiel soon found himself in a different part of town. It was a lot more cramped, and there were trailer homes lined up. Some were just small homes, tethered to the earth by planks that were falling apart. People sat outside in chairs, around fires, smoking and drinking. When Castiel looked at an old burly man with a cigar in his mouth, he had to turn away. The man gave him a scowl, as if he could smell the city on him. He was so far removed from that now.

“And here’s where I grew up,” Dean said with clipped, sardonic enthusiasm in his voice.

Castiel stopped and looked at the house before him. It was small and splintered like it had been squeezed down to size. It was narrow, with a section off the side jutting out awkwardly. Castiel supposed it had never been painted, as the dark brown wood choked the house. The color swallowed it in darkness. The windows were dirty, the front steps were crooked. There was a mailbox out front that said _Winchester._

Castiel looked over at Dean.

“This is where I grew up,” he repeated. “This is where Sammy grew up. I always hated this place. But, I’m back now.”

Dean looked over at Cas, his expression stoic and uncaring. “Cause it’s my home. This is where I belong Cas.”

Castiel almost felt like Dean was rubbing his nose in the dirt, like he was so wrong that he had to spend the rest of the day telling him off. He wanted to snap at him, say _I get it. I fucking get it. But was the city that bad?_

“I just want you to see me the way I am, Cas,” Dean said, blasting Castiel out of his thoughts.

“You think I was wrong about you this whole time?”

Dean laughed. He actually laughed. Castiel held his tongue. “No. Not entirely. I just…need to be real for a change.”

“What are you talking about?”

Dean looked over at him, but then beyond him. They focused on something in the distance. Dean’s face was then illuminated by yellow light, and his eyes shone like suns.

Castiel turned around to see a car coming slowly up the road. It was swerving slightly and drifting like the driver was asleep. Castiel instantly recognized it. “Isn’t that your car?”

He turned back to Dean and was surprised to see Dean was panic-stricken. His eyes were blown out. “Technically it’s my dad’s car. Come on, Cas.”

“What?”

“We gotta go,” Dean said and grabbed his arm.

They headed up towards Dean’s house. Dean unlocked the front door frantically, and pushed Castiel in. Castiel stumbled into what looked like a makeshift foyer. Dean grabbed his shoulder and guided him down a narrow hall and into a small room towards the back of the house. “Please stay in here. If my dad is as drunk as I think he is, he’d be fucking pissed if he knew there was a stranger in his house. You’ll be fine, okay? I’ll deal with my dad, then I’ll be back.”

“Dean-”

“Just stay in here. Please. Lock the door and don’t make a sound.” Dean pushed Castiel further into the tiny bedroom, then left and closed the door behind him. Castiel reached forward and locked the door.

Castiel could hear the car pull up into the driveway, the rumbling engine of Dean’s chevy, the squeaky door opening, then slamming shut. He could hear the shuffling footsteps of a man who has been drinking all night. He even heard Dean’s muffled voice mingle with the night.

Castiel held his breath. Why did it feel like Dean has done this before? That Dean was very well practiced in protecting people from his father. Perhaps this is what Dean did for Sam every night their father came home drunk. Hide him away until it was all better. The thought ripped through Castiel’s chest.

He heard the front door swing open and crash against the wall.

“Dad,” Dean said, his voice small. “Why don’t you give me the keys to the car, and we can get to your room okay? You have to sleep.”

“Don’t fucking patronize me, boy. Don’t treat me like I’m younger than you, like you know better.”

“I just don’t want you driving again-”

“No. You want to steal _my_ car again. You want to take off with Sammy, and you want to leave me in this hellhole. You selfish piece of shit. You just want out.”

“Dad, Sam isn’t here. He’s at college. I came back for you.”

“You came back to stuff me in a box in the ground. You came back to watch me die away. You were waiting for the day. You bastard.”

There was a banging noise, like some furniture must have gotten tipped over.

“Dad, please. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I hate you. I fucking hate you. Don’t you touch me. You know what you are? You’re a fucking leech, you are. I’ve given you everything you’ve ever needed-”

“Dad.”

“Everything you’ve ever wanted. And what do you do? You take my car, you take my son, you kill your fucking mother.”

Castiel felt his knees go numb, and he sunk to the floor against the back of the door.

“I…” Dean voice sounded like it was broken into a million pieces. “I didn’t kill mom.”

“You fucking killed her. Because she cared for you so much. And she couldn’t do anything else. You chained her to that house, you and your brother. You destroyed her. And you turned her against me, both of you. She could’ve gotten out but of course she had to check on you.”

“We could’ve died if it wasn’t for her. Dad, trust me. It’s ripped me up inside but I know she would have wanted-”

“You don’t know what the fuck she wanted. You didn’t know her like I do. You and your brother should’ve died because then that would have taught you a lesson. A lesson in gratefulness. A lesson in-”

“Death! A lesson in death! You really wanted us to die?”

“You watch your tone, boy. You better step away.”

“Or what, huh? You don’t know what mom wanted. You have no idea. Because she didn’t want this. She didn’t want your sorry ass like this. You son of a-”

Dean grunted, and Castiel could hear him crash down onto the floor. His father must have punched him.

“Really? That’s all you got?” Dean said, his voice muffled.

John hit him again. Castiel could hear his fist colliding with Dean’s face. The crack. “You killed her. You fucking killed her.”

The yelling dissolved into incoherence. Yelling and punching, kicking, beating.

“And you’re gonna leave again. And you’re gonna take the car, take Sam, take your mother. You’re gonna kill her again. Burn her. I was left with you. I can’t believe I was left with you. _You._ You weak, senseless shit.”

After what seemed like forever, John seemed to stop, and fall in a heap on the ground. “I’m leaving,” he said, and grunted as he stood. Castiel heard clumsy footsteps shuffling against the wood. “Don’t follow me.”

Castiel could hear John walk to the door and yank it open. He stepped out into the night, and the car started up again.

Then he was gone. The world was silent.

Castiel still sat on the ground, holding his knees. He peered up at the door. He didn’t know how much time had passed before the doorknob was being jostled.

Castiel sprang up and unlocked it.

Dean fell though the door and into his arms. It was like Dean wasn’t there anymore, just a soul needing comfort. Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel’s shoulders, and a hand shot up into his hair. Castiel wrapped his arms tightly around Dean’s torso. Dean was breathing heavily and jagged, like John had hurt his ribs. Dean’s fingers thread through his hair and then curled inward, holding it in tight fists.

“Are you okay?”

Instantly, Dean pulled back and kissed him. Hard. Castiel was stunned but didn’t pull away. He let Dean hold his face and bite his lip and kiss his neck. Dean didn’t let him talk. He just kept kissing him, and kissing him until he was breathless, until he could feel tears transfer onto his cheeks, and could taste Dean’s blood in his mouth.

Castiel put a hand on Dean’s chest and pushed him away gently. “Dean-”

“No,” Dean said. “No. I can’t stop. I want you. I fucking want you.” Dean leaned forward again, catching Castiel’s lips and cupping the sides of his face.

“Dean you’re hurt,” Castiel said between crushing kisses.

“Don’t care,” Dean said. “Need you.”

“Stop,” Castiel finally said, and grabbed Dean by the shoulders. He held him at arm’s length. “What’s going on? Dean, you’re hurt. We should tend to your wounds.”

Dean laughed out loud. “My _wounds._ I don’t give a fuck, Cas.”

“Your father just beat the hell out of you.”

“Yeah, that’s how it is.”

“You didn’t deserve it! You could never deserve it no matter what you do.”

Dean knocked Castiel’s arms away. “Shut up, Cas.”

Castiel couldn’t take it. He pushed passed Dean and went down the hall.

“Where are you going?”

“You must have a first aid kit somewhere. Or some towels. I need to turn on a light and see the damage.”

Castiel made his way to the kitchen. Dean followed closely on his heels, then grabbed his elbow. “Cas, stop.”

In the light of the kitchen, Castiel could see what John had done. Dean’s lip was busted, and there was a bruise forming under his right eye. The way Dean held himself was concerning too. He shielded his chest with his arm.

“Dean…”

“You gotta believe me that this happens all the time.”

Castiel couldn’t help it. He stepped forward and looked up at Dean. He felt tears prickle his eyes as he looked at the man he loved. He touched Dean’s cheek, and he winced. “You don’t think you deserve better?”

Dean seemed to break. He leaned into Castiel’s hand. He wouldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s always been like this.”

Castiel leaned forward and kissed his forehead. He heard Dean breathing heavily, like he was holding back tears.

“Come on,” Castiel said as he pulled back. He reached down and took Dean’s hand. “Let’s clean you up.”

Dean stared at him, quietly, then nodded.

**La Valse D'amélie**

The bathroom at the Winchester household was smaller than the one in Dean’s apartment in NYC. It was almost like stepping into one of those Egyptian coffins that stood up straight. Castiel dragged Dean into the bathroom and sat him down on top of the yellowed-porcelain toilet lid.

“This is a little over-dramatic, Cas,” Dean said.

Castiel moved quickly. He had found a first aid kid under the sink in the kitchen, pushed all the way back behind old dish soap and towels. It was covered in a thin layer of dust.

Castiel set the first aid kit on the counter and cracked it open. Inside, there was wasn’t much. A few loose band aids, tangled gauze, and one disinfectant wipe. Castiel pouted, then checked under the sink in the bathroom. Sure enough, there were paper towels. Castiel pulled some out and wetted it under the sink.

Dean sat there, watching him. He reached over and touched a turtle-shell bottom on Castiel’s coat. He spun it lightly between his fingers, testing the seams, rubbing it like a rosary. “Why are you here, Cas?”

Castiel ignored him. He stepped forward and held the side of Dean’s face. He could tell Dean wanted to complain, but he eventually gave in, and leaned into his hand. Castiel dabbed Dean’s lip with the wet paper towel. The towel turned pink. Dean winced.

“You’re not gonna answer?” Dean mumbled while Castiel rubbed his lip. “Really?”

Castiel dropped his hands, allowing Dean to lick his lip and look into his eyes under the dim yellow light of the bathroom.

“I came because you would have done the same for me. Because this whole time you’ve been caring for me and now, I have to care for you.”

“Bullshit,” Dean practically whispered. “You don’t have to. And I told you that you needed time.”

Castiel shook his head and turned to pull out the disinfectant wipe from the first aid kit. He turned and started dabbing Dean’s lip with it. Dean grimaced. “You can’t tell me what I need,” he said. “You couldn’t even scratch the surface because it starts with _you_.”

The truth of it ripped through Castiel’s chest. But, he forced himself to stay gentle, to slowly dab Dean’s lip. Dean didn’t respond, he just stared down into space, breathing shallow.

“And you sent me that song. Thought you didn’t like Ricky Nelson.”

Dean finally looked up at him and wrapped his fingers around Castiel’s wrist, stilling him. “I was drunk when I wrote that note. And it wasn’t an invitation for you to come.”

Dean’s bitter tone cut through him, but he ignored it.

“I know it wasn’t an invitation,” Castiel said, gently prying his wrist out of Dean’s grip and dropping his arms to his sides. “But I also know you. And I know that you’re not meant to be here.”

“How do you fucking know? I just showed you the whole town, and this house, it has me written all over it-”

“Shut up, Dean,” Castiel said. Dean clicked his mouth shut and rested up against the back of the toilet. “I know why you’re here and it’s not because you think you don’t fit in back at the city. You’re here because-”

Dean held up his hand. Castiel forced himself to hold back frustration. “Don’t psychoanalyze me, Cas. I know what you’re gonna say.”

“Really?” Castiel said. “You know that I was going to say that you are the most incredible person I’ve ever met and the most caring person I know, and this house is a shithole that doesn’t fucking define you?”

Dean looked down at the corroded tiles. He wouldn’t meet his eyes. Castiel almost wanted to repeat himself, make Dean listen. But, he held his tongue. Finally, Dean took a deep breath. “I made a plan, okay? I had to get Sammy out of here. We’d go to the city, he’d get into a good college, be ready for a damn good future. Then, I’d come right back here and finish taking care of my dad. It had nothing to do with the city, or the bar, or _you._ Especially you…I, Cas truth is, I tried. I fucking tried to think that meeting you changed things. That maybe I shouldn’t come back here simply because I didn’t want to fucking leave you. But I had to. It was too selfish. Too fucking selfish if I stayed.”

“Because this is who you are?” Castiel said slowly. “You leave no room for your own happiness?”

Dean shrugged.

“You are unbelievable,” Castiel said. “No one is this selfless.”

Dean pouted. “I don’t know about selfless, but-”

“I have met terrible people,” Castiel continued. “Truly awful people. My own father, my brother, I could go on and on. I even doubt that I am good. That I am strong enough to be good. But you. _You._ Everything you do is for love.”

Dean laughed under his breath. He shook his head. “I’m not that great, Cas.”

“But you came back to _this._ Because it was an obligation? Because you felt I needed space? Because Sam is better off now?”

“Yes,” Dean said, deadpan.

“You idiot,” Castiel said. He bent down, and captured Dean’s lips with his own. He could taste the rubbing alcohol, could taste lingering blood. He didn’t care. It was Dean, Dean, Dean.

Dean pulled back just an inch. “What do I do, Cas?”

Castiel pushed his lips against his again, softly, then pulled back. He cupped the sides of Dean’s face, smoothed his hair.

“How do I get out of this now?” Dean said, his voice breaking. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can,” Castiel said, and kissed him again.

Dean deepened the kiss, pushing upwards, grabbing at the lapels of Castiel’s coat. “If I can’t-”

“Stop,” Castiel whispered between kisses.

“If I can’t,” Dean restated. “I want you. I want you.”

Dean stood, trying his best not to break the kiss. When he was standing fully, he grabbed the sides of Castiel’s face and kissed him with everything he had. Castiel grabbed the sleeves of Dean’s jacket, just around the shoulders. They stumbled out of the tiny bathroom, the two of them barely fitting in it in the first place. Out in the hallway, Dean reached out and touched the wall, leading them towards Dean’s bedroom. Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean’s shoulders and melted into him. He was walking backwards, slowly, trusting Dean’s guidance, and trying not to trip.

When they reached the doorway of Dean’s room, Dean pushed Castiel into the room gently, then followed him in. He closed the door behind him.

Before Castiel could react, Dean reached out, grabbed his shoulder near his neck and steadily pulled him towards him, turned him around, and pushed him up against the door.

“Get this off,” Dean breathed, and pushed at the lapels of Castiel’s coat and dress suit, smoothing it over his shoulders. It fell in a pile at Castiel’s feet, and Castiel kicked it away.

Castiel grabbed at Dean’s jacket, a ratty denim thing, and yanked it off his body a lot less gentle. He started on his shirt, pulling the hem up past his chest. Dean pulled away and tore it off. Castiel smoothed his hands over his chest, warming his hands. He realized he could never get tired of how warm Dean is, how soft his skin is. He kissed Dean’s neck, under his ear, the bolt of his jaw, down to his collarbone.

He wasn’t wearing his necklace. Castiel even looked for it, moved his hands across his chest to find the amulet and take it off carefully, but it wasn’t there. He was going to ask, but Dean kissed him harder.

Dean, with quick hands, undid each button on Castiel’s shirt, then carefully tugged it off, and discarded the shirt behind him.

They breathed together. Castiel’s hands went everywhere. Dean kissed him all over his face, on his forehead, over his chest. Their lips met again, and it was cosmic.

Dean’s hands trailed him Castiel’s chest and met the cross hanging around his neck. For a quick moment, he held the cross between his fingers, rubbing the thin gold, considering it. Then, he released it, opting to kiss where the chain rubbed against Castiel’s neck.

Dean was collapsing in his arms. Castiel held his face, gently, between his hands, kissing him sweetly, kissing his nose. Dean just took it, letting Castiel shower him with praise. This was praying. Dean pressed his palms flat on Castiel’s chest. Praying.

Castiel didn’t know when it began, but they crumbled to the ground. Dean pushed down on his shoulders, and straddled him, holding his face, kissing him deeply. Castiel settled onto the floor below him, propped his legs up, his thighs bumping against Dean’s back. He moved his hands up and down Dean’s back, scratching him lightly, loving the way it made Dean’s breath hitch.

Dean reached out and pressed a palm against the door behind Castiel, deepening the kiss, and pressing himself harder down into Castiel’s lap.

Suddenly, Castiel understood what Dean wanted, and the thought sent him spiraling. He pushed his hand up and threaded it into Dean’s hair. He moved his hips, ever so slightly, shifted his legs farther, and then electricity shot thought him. Dean gasped into his mouth as he pushed harder down onto him.

Dean grimaced for a moment and inhaled sharply.

“Are you okay?” Castiel muttered into the crook of his neck. He looked up, and their noses collided.

“Fine,” Dean said, groaning a bit. “But my ribs might be a little sore.”

In an instant, Castiel moved his hands away. “Oh god,” he said. “You’re probably covered in bruises. Dean, we…we don’t have to do this.”

Dean kissed him gently. “It’s okay. I-I want this.”

Castiel breathed through the kiss, allowing his hands to rest back on Dean’s skin as gently as he could. He could feel Dean smiling softly. “Go slow,” he said.

Castiel deepened the kiss, and they sat there comfortably, enjoying their closeness. Dean trailed his lips down to his neck and sucked lightly, leaving small marks. Castiel felt down Dean’s spin, tracing all the way down to the waistband of his jeans. Dean pushed a hand down between them and flattened his palm over Castiel’s cock, hard in his pants.

Dean pushed himself forward, replacing his hand with his inner thighs, his cock hard too and pushed down.

It was a slow movement, like simply swaying on the ocean. Dean had one hand on the back of the door, and the other tangled in Castiel’s hair. Castiel fitted his hand under Dean’s ass, helping him move.

“Fuck,” Dean said, his voice already sounding shattered. “Fuck, Cas. I need-”

“Me too,” Castiel said quietly, and instantly moved his hands to the fly of Dean’s jeans. He unbuttoned it, and Dean shifted upwards, allowing Castiel to work his jeans and underwear down his thighs.

Dean didn’t settle back down, but instead grabbed at the waistband of Castiel’s pants. Castiel was too distracted to help him as he smoothed his hands over Dean’s bare ass and pressed his thumbs into his hipbones. His lips collided with Dean’s chest, right as his sternum. He sucked at the skin there. He let himself reach around, slowly, and wrap his fingers around Dean’s cock. He could feel Dean inhale.

Dean managed to unhook Castiel’s fly, and then push the pants down as far as they could go. Castiel shifted so the pants went down past his ass. It didn’t matter if it was uncomfortable. Castiel knew he didn’t care. He wrapped his arms tight around Dean’s waist, and Dean wrapped his arm around his shoulder.

“Will you be okay?” Castiel murmured, his lips gliding over Dean’s sternum. Dean was still.

“Yes,” Dean said, and it was barely a whisper. Castiel could feel Dean lift his hand up to his face, and spit into his palm. “I just need to-”

Castiel nodded. Dean reached between them, in the tight space that was barely there. He wrapped his hand around Castiel’s cock and pumped it. Castiel breathed hotly into Dean’s chest, and peppered kisses along his stomach. Dean sat up even more, until Castiel felt like he was being crushed between him and the door. Then, Dean aligned himself and sunk down slowly. Castiel didn’t realize he had been holding his breath until his chest felt like it was burning. He exhaled in a moan. Dean’s grip around his shoulders was tight and Castiel felt his back muscles, his sides, it was all tight.

Finally, Dean relaxed, then started to move up and down just slightly.

“Fuck,” Castiel muttered. Dean slammed one hand onto the door behind him, then grabbed his chin with the other. He tilted Castiel chin up until they could kiss. It was sloppy and mindless as they just breathed together.

Dean moved up and down, his movements steady. Castiel could tell it must hurt, as Dean grimaced each time, but the kisses reassured him, and the moans and the labored breath. It felt fucking amazing.

The pants around his upper thighs were digging into his circulation, and Dean’s jeans around his knees were getting in the way, but it was fucking perfect. It was incredible, and Castiel felt like he was high.

Dean sped up. He closed his eyes, trailed his lips over Castiel’s temple. Castiel held his hips gently, only pressing when he felt like he needed to hold on for dear life.

“Fuck,” Dean breathed out. “This is-”

“Fucking amazing,” Castiel groaned into Dean’s neck, sucking hard below his ear.

Castiel reached between them and grabbed Dean’s cock, allowing Dean to push in and out of his grip as he moved up and down. Dean was moaning into his ear.

Castiel didn’t want it to end, this feeling, this high. He felt drunk on Dean. His skin, his smell, the sweat he tasted. Dean bent down just slightly and caught his lips. He moaned into his mouth and Castiel sucked on his bottom lip. Dean steadied himself, closed his mouth. He wanted sweet kisses, he wanted lips.

Castiel started moving his hand faster over Dean’s cock, working as Dean quickened the pace, then slowed, then quickened again.

“Fuck,” Castiel said. “I’m gonna…”

Dean quieted him with a crushing kiss. Castiel felt their teeth clash, he kept his mouth open.

Castiel’s grip on Dean’s hip tightened, and he gave in. He came, and the rush of it made him see lights behind his eyes. The world crashed away, and for a moment he was so dizzy he forgot he was on the floor. He had to grab the floor beside him to steady himself.

Castiel went limp, his hand still tight around Dean’s cock, but the rest of him like puddy. Dean kissed him gently as he kept moving up and down. Then, he stilled, and his hand shot up into Castiel’s hair, almost ripping out bits of it with how hard he was gripping. He came, and Castiel could feel it on his chest. 

Then, they stayed there, motionless. Castiel felt like he was coming down from the fucking heavens. Dean moved up, shifted himself, and then settled back down in Castiel’s lap. Castiel looked down between them at the tangle of clothes, at his own cock.

Dean collapsed forward and pressed his forehead to Castiel’s shoulder.

“Are you…hurt?” Castiel muttered.

He could feel Dean shake his head against his shoulder. Castiel kissed his ear. “No. That was amazing. I…it- hurts, but I liked it.”

Castiel ran a hand through Dean’s hair. It was slightly damp from sweat. “I think you scare me,” Castiel said.

“Why?” Dean asked; his voice was so tired.

Castiel sighed and pressed a kiss against Dean’s temple. “Because every single time I’m with you I feel like it could be the last time.”

Dean leaned back and started to get up. He stood and pulled his pants up, zipping and buttoning the jeans. “Don’t be so dramatic, Cas,” he said, bending down to swipe up his t-shirt. “And look, whatever. That’s how it is with us, right? It either feels like it could go on forever or just as likely end the next day. Nothing is safe.”

Castiel gathered his pants around his hips and stood. Dean stood in front of him, close, like he was going to kiss him again. Castiel lifted his chin, waiting.

“If this was our last night on earth, what would you do?” Dean asked quietly.

Castiel kissed him. “Well, we already ticked one of my boxes.”

Dean smiled.

**La Campanella**

It was a stressed night. But they made do with what they had. The bad feelings came back. The grief, the bruised ribs. Dean warmed up some frozen food, and Castiel insisted on making some tea to calm Dean’s headache from the bruise under his eye. The Winchester household didn’t have a tea kettle, and Castiel had to scrounge through the cabinets to find some old peppermint tea Sam most definitely bought way back when he still lived here. He put a pot on the stove and heated some water.

Castiel felt like everything was falling apart around them, but when he looked at Dean, it was all okay. He was happy.

Him and Dean sat at the kitchen table, eating, talking. They discussed nothing in particular. Dean told him more stories of his childhood and about the last couple months. Castiel held his hand over the table and played with his fingers. He supplied his own childhood stories. Random, meaningless antiquities that would pass the time in the slowest way possible. Maybe if they didn’t move from the table, or didn’t look away from each other, the next morning would never come. They sat there for hours, going through cup after cup of tea. Dean hated it, of course, calling it icky leaf water. But he drank it because it was warm. “And because you made it,” he had said to Castiel.

Castiel loved him more than he could handle.

He didn’t want to lose it.

John Winchester was nowhere to be found and it was a blessing; he was probably passed out in the car on the side of the road somewhere. They retired to Dean’s room as the time etched into the morning hours. There, on Dean’s bed, they lied facing each other. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other’s faces, from out of each other’s hair, untangled from their t-shirts. Castiel didn’t want to let go, because if he let go, he felt like he’d never have a moment like this again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come be nice to me (please) on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/green-eyes-and-classic-rock)


	12. Coda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> resolutions and music that comes to a head

“Forever is composed of nows”

― Emily Dickinson

The next morning came quick despite Castiel not being able to sleep. He didn’t sleep, or dream, he just merely closed his eyes and listened to Dean breathing. Dean had fallen into deep sleep, probably succumbing to the dull pain of the bruises John peppered along his ribs.

The sun came in wrathful through the dusty windows. It jarred the calm that was somehow persisting below all the pain of last night and all the pain of the last year.

Dean woke up slowly and rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands. “What time is it?” he asked. His voice was strained. His ribs probably still hurt.

“Don’t know. Don’t care,” Castiel mumbled.

It was as if his voice snapped Dean back into reality because Dean looked over at him and his eyes focused, his face softened. He shifted in closer and pressed his forehead against Castiel’s. “Good morning sunshine.”

Castiel kissed him.

**Little Fugue**

The rest of the morning felt like a strange dream. Dean and Castiel skirted around the kitchen in the dreamy yellow light. Dean wrapped his arms around him from behind as Castiel poured coffee into mugs. He peppered the back of his neck with soft lazy kisses. Castiel felt like they’d been married for years, and this was every morning. He felt like he could relive this moment and never need to go back to the real world.

But the real world was there. What seemed like a sunny morning started to morph into a cloudy day, with rain on the horizon. Figures.

“That squeaking noise in your car is probably fine. Just don’t ride the breaks on the way home,” Dean said as he changed into jeans and tugged on his boots.

“I’m sure we can stop and fix it on the way back if we need to,” Castiel said.

“We?”

And that’s where it all snapped.

“You’re not…coming with me?” Castiel said, his hand tight around his coffee mug. Dean was looking at him so casually, like he hadn’t just shattered his world.

He even looked taken aback. “I have to stay here, Cas. My dad could drink himself to death.”

“But-”

“He needs me.”

“Yeah, as a punching bag.”

The tension in the room could be cut by a knife. Dean finished the rest of his coffee and stood. He walked over to the kitchen and placed the mug in the sink, then stared down at it as if in a trance.

“Cas, I-”

“You said you wanted to get out of this.”

“I said I didn’t know if I could,” Dean said, gripping the edges of the kitchen sink. “You’re the one who loves how selfless I _apparently_ am.”

Castiel couldn’t take it anymore, he wanted to slam his fist on the table, scream to the heaven’s how wrong Dean is, how he will die if he stays here. But he held his tongue, and he unclenched his fist. “You are the most selfless and caring man I know. But this isn’t selflessness. This is suicide. You have to be selfish right now.”

Dean stayed silent as he stared down into the sink. Then, he looked over at Castiel, and his eyes were red around the edges. Castiel felt a stone in his throat.

“Dean-”

“I can’t, Cas,” he said. “I just can’t. I have to stay.”

And just then, hope felt like pain.

-

Dean walked with him back to his car at Turner’s Garage. They didn’t speak. Castiel was in shock and disbelief, thinking that he failed. He _did_ fail. He failed at the one thing everyone wanted him to do. Save Dean. Bring him back home.

He failed.

When they made it to Turner’s garage, no one was there yet. Dean told him that on Sundays, they open after church.

They stood in front of the ugly tan car, Castiel fiddled with the keys in his hand.

“Drive safe, okay?” Dean said, his voice emotionless. “And tell everyone back in the city that I say hi.”

 _Tell them yourself,_ Castiel wanted to say, but he just nodded.

“Thank you, Cas,” Dean said. “For coming here, for everything. I really did miss you.”

Castiel couldn’t meet his eyes. “I’ll give you a ride back to your house.”

“Okay,” Dean said. “As long as you don’t kidnap me.”

Castiel looked up at him then. Dean had this dumb, confident smirk of someone that was too stubborn to give up, too stubborn to try and live a peaceful life. Castiel felt angry, but above all, sad. “I won’t,” he said quietly. “I can’t force you to leave.”

Dean pouted at Castiel’s sober tone, at his refusal to joke about the situation.

They piled into Castiel’s borrowed car, and when Castiel started the engine, he heard the squeaking noise again. He pressed on the brakes lightly.

-

Then, they were in front of the Winchester’s house. It felt like so much time had passed since he rolled into Lawrence and at the same time none had passed at all. Nothing had changed.

“Thanks,” Dean said, and started to get out of the car. Castiel let him go. Dean closed the door behind him. He learned down and peered through the window. Castiel found it so painful to even look at him.

“I’m sorry, Cas.” Dean said, his voice wavering. Castiel thought he hallucinated it. “I…I’m sorry I’m not strong enough.”

Before Castiel could respond, Dean turned and started to walk down towards the house.

“No,” Castiel muttered to himself. He looked down at his hands, down at the cross lying on his chest, down at this car he so stupidly borrowed. And for what reason?

“No.”

Castiel tore open the car door and stepped out. He went around the front of the car, and Dean didn’t even notice he was following him until he reached the front door. Dean turned around; his eyes were glazed with the beginnings of tears.

“You dumbass,” Castiel started. Dean’s eyes were wide. Castiel stepped closer to him. “I love you.”

Dean’s expression shattered. He swallowed hard.

“I drove all the way here trying to think of what to say to you to get you to understand that. Because I can just say _I love you_ , and that is the truth. The raw truth. I love you. But you wouldn’t believe it. You wouldn’t believe it because I wouldn’t if you told me the same. Because we’re alike, you and I.

And I drove here, I can’t believe I fucking drove all the way here. I kept thinking about Jimmy the whole time. And how much it hurts like hell that he’s gone. And how I can’t breathe, and nothing makes sense. Since he died, I kept thinking that I could die any day. I kept wishing that it was me who died that night, not him. I could have died yesterday, and I could die tomorrow, and does that even matter if I already feel half-dead? But I realize now. I need to be alive. I want to be alive. And I couldn’t exist another day without you knowing that I love you. I wanted, _needed_ , to tell you that when I’m with you I feel alive. When I look at you, everything makes sense, and I can’t explain, but it makes me so madly lost on you that I can’t believe I didn’t know. I can’t believe it took me till now to see that we’re the same, that we’re made up of the same stuff. And in every universe, we must know each other. And in every universe, I’m so fucking in love with you.”

Castiel realized he had been talking for a while, spilling everything at Dean’s feet like blood from his hands. Dean stood in the doorway, his hand held still in the front door handle, his eyes scanning Castiel’s face. Castiel looked into his eyes, saw how guarded Dean looked, saw the battle of thoughts in his head.

Castiel continued. “But I…I can’t tell you what to do. And, you know what, Dean? I wish I could be more selfless, but I don’t care. I don’t care what you think your responsibilities are here, but _I_ need you. I need you home with me. And I know I can’t control you. I just wish I could. I wish…well, I wish circumstances were different.”

Castiel looked into Dean’s eyes, saw how guarded Dean looked, saw the battle of thoughts in his head.

The silence was suffocating. And hurtful. And every other bad thing Pandora could possibly realize from the shitty box of bad things that were now all swarming in Castiel’s chest. He wished pain like this was simply too painful to be real.

“Goodbye, Dean,” Castiel muttered before he could swallow the words. He wished he hadn’t said it, but it was too late now.

Castiel turned around and walked down the driveway. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets.

He got in the car and drove off. He never looked back.

**O Come All Ye Faithful**

In late November, New York lights up with Christmas lights, decorations, and the excitement of the holidays hung in the air.

The hotel Castiel played at was decked out with plastic garlands and string lights and even a tree in the foyer. Castiel was instructed to only play Christmas music. _O Come, All Ye Faithful, Hark, The Herald Angels Sing, Jingle Bells._

 _Carol of the Bells_ reminded him of Dean.

After his shift every night, Castiel would walk by Campbell’s. He’d take the subway down to Greenwich, then stop a couple blocks early to check on the bar, which was securely closed complete with a sign. The city must not have noticed just yet, Campbell’s being a discrete place anyway. But he could feel the place mourn. It used to be full of loud live music, laughter, drunken happiness. Now it was all but abandoned, and the snow threatened to bury it.

He wasn’t sure why he stopped by it every night. Maybe he thought one of these nights it would be open and buzzing with people, and the owner would be at the bar serving drinks like he always has. 

Claire was not exactly ecstatic for the holidays. They had a small, warm thanksgiving with Missouri, Kelly and the kids. Claire loved her cousins, but it wasn’t enough to pull her out of her slump. Castiel worried about her every day.

“So, is this how it’s gonna be for the rest of our lives?” she asked him one night after Castiel helped her with her English homework. “No more going to Bobby’s house or Jody’s house. No more Dean?”

Castiel felt stung. “Claire…I don’t know. Maybe. I just don’t know.”

Claire has resigned after that, and hadn’t mentioned Dean again, or anyone really. It was like the light had gone out between them.

Nearing the holidays, people have kept in touch, which is something Castiel can admit that he’s eternally grateful for. Charlie stopped by his apartment a few times with a bottle of white wine. _Specifically_ , white wine, as on old inside joke. Bobby and Jody even visited one afternoon. Ellen and Jo come almost every week for Friday dinners. Sam calls and tells him all about college.

But there was no denying everything felt wrong. Like the sky was goddamn purple and no one was talking about it.

There was no word from Dean.

Mid-December now. The snow finally came in the city. Castiel had to stop on his way home to admire it. He always loved the way the snow fell like crystals, brightened by the lights in the city. The streetlights, the buildings, the cars. At night it was incredible. He wished Dean was here with him. To watch the snow swirl, to hold his hand.

Castiel fished out the cross necklace from under his coat. He held it, rubbed it between his fingers. He prayed to Jimmy. _Thank you. I miss you. I love you._

He couldn’t help but extend it to Dean.

_Thank you. I miss you. I love you._

**Nocturne in D-Flat Major**

It was nearing Christmas. The hotel bar that Castiel played at was packed with drunk adults, dressed in shades of red or green, smoking cigarettes and trying to look as elegant as possible. It must have been some office party, or a fancy get together of all rich people. Having grown up in that world, Castiel knew the mannerisms. How everyone drank with their pinkie in the air like it mattered, how people smiled with expensive pearly whites, how everyone was determined to be the most important person in the room, meaning no one was important by comparison.

Everyone was drinking far too much. There was a roaring fire, and a huge tree. People clapped along and sang to the upbeat Christmas songs Castiel had to play.

He felt numb. Empty.

He couldn’t breathe from the cigarette smoke and his tie was way too tight around his neck. He pulled at it, but every time he did, the hotel manager would walk by and give him a death stare.

His hands hurt too. The joints in his fingers were stiffening, and between songs, he massaged his knuckles under the piano. He calculated that he’s been playing for six hours straight.

He had a set list, but on a crowded night like this, he relied on requests. There was a notepad with fancy paper and a _fucking_ quill on the end of his piano. He’d see women wobble on their heels over to the notepad, scribble something, then waltz away to rejoin their friends.

The list was all nauseating Christmas repeats. _Jingle Bells_ followed by _Santa Baby_ followed by _White Christmas._ For the most part, Castiel didn’t necessarily know how to play the songs. He knew _Jingle Bells_ by heart because of how many times he had to play it at his family’s lavish Christmas parties growing up. But most he had to play by ear, and figure it out as he went. He knew any minor mistakes he made wouldn’t even be heard over the party.

He had to admit that he somewhat enjoyed it. When he played, he fell into this world that only he could understand. He loved to experiment with the notes, switch up the classic songs, add his own embellishments.

He finished up _Deck the Halls_ amidst a roaring crowd. It was nearing on midnight. He subtly looked around for his manager, and when he couldn’t find him, he cracked his fingers over the keyboard, rolled his shoulders, and loosened his tie just a bit. Thankfully, his shift was almost over.

Yet, the request list was still long. He scanned down the list and searched for what came after _Deck the Halls_.

He read:

_Scriabin. Nocturne in D-Flat Major._

He put the notepad down and readjusted himself on the seat, readying himself to play. Instinctually, after reading the name of the song, he rested his right hand on his lap and readied his left hand on the opening keys.

Then, he froze.

He grabbed the notepad again and stared at it in wonder.

_Scriabin. Nocturne in D-Flat Major._

“What?” he muttered to himself, then looked around the room. No one was paying him much attention besides a small group of couples sitting by the fire. They were sucking on cigarettes and casually glancing his way, waiting for the piano to start up again to enhance their mood.

Castiel ignored them and looked to the bar, where people sat and sipped on martinis. No one looked out of place.

Castiel stared at the song request again. He vaguely recognized the handwriting. Just from the restock lists he’d see behind the counter at Campbell’s, or the various letters and notes he saw lying around the Winchester’s apartment in Greenwich Village.

It was like he was straining to remember a dream he had. He was trying not to hope for what could devastate him if it weren’t true.

The couples by the fire cleared their throats and gave him drunken glares, egging him on to play again. Castiel looked around the room one more time, then tentatively returned to his position in front of the piano.

He swallowed hard, pushing down nerves in the pit of his stomach, and began to play with his left hand.

The song was so familiar that he could turn off his brain, allow it to go into a daydream. He thought of when he played this song for Dean, when he could feel Dean’s eyes on him and the comfort and fear of that all at once entranced him. He remembered when Dean kissed him right after, when they were alone in the bar and he hadn’t even noticed.

The song made him ache for a childhood that wasn’t even all that good. It made him ache for when Jimmy was still here, when him and Gabriel would gather around the piano and watch as Castiel played.

He was sure that he got some notes wrong. He was sure that he was skipping notes. And maybe he wasn’t even that great at playing this song in the first place. But he didn’t care. He played and he sank into his own world, and he fell in love with the song all over again. He fell in love with the person who he believed this song represented. The complicated, frustrating, lonely, achingly beautiful, and lovely person who he had fallen in love with.

The song finished just as the party began to die down. His shift was over.

The group of couples by the fire packed up and shuffled away, drunken women staggering in their heels retired to rooms upstairs, cigarette-smelling men in suits loosened their ties, put on their hats and filed out into the snowy night.

But the party still hung on by threads. What was left were couples sitting closely at the bar, woman gossiping at tables, men finishing cigars.

And at the bar was the only person in the room that was paying attention to the man at the piano.

Dean looked pale due to winter weather and the sun receding. His hair was a bit longer and had just a hint of a part down the side. He even looked like he lost a bit of weight since the last time he saw him in Lawrence. His face looked slimer.

But he looked as beautiful as the day Castiel met him. Of course, he did.

Castiel forced himself to look away and gather his things. He grabbed his coat and threw it on, then carefully closed the lid over the piano keys.

When he looked up again, Dean was there, standing beside the keyboard. “You know you never told me what that song was called. I sifted through like six sonatas until I remembered you only played it with your left hand. That narrowed it down a bit.”

Castiel stood like a deer in headlights, not knowing what to say.

“This place is pretty gaudy, huh?” Dean said. “It’s like Christmas threw up all over it. I did love your playing though. You made even the most annoying Christmas music sound reasonable.”

Dean was smiling. He looked light.

Castiel couldn’t handle it.

He rounded the corner of the piano, pushed past Dean and started heading towards the back entrance of the hotel. Dean was following him; he could feel his eyes on his back. Castiel quickly strived up to clock himself out. He clipped his card, returned it, then busted through the back door.

Dean grabbed the door behind him before it slammed in his face.

They found themselves on a quiet street. Snow dusted the pavement, and people shuffled by trying not to slip.

“Cas,” Dean said as Castiel started to head down the street towards Central Park. He never goes by Central Park at this time of night, but he needed to get away from people.

Dean didn’t protest past that. He just followed Castiel down the street, eventually catching up to him so they walked side by side. Castiel hated and loved the way he could see Dean out of his peripherals, hear Dean breathing, see his white breath in the air.

When they entered into the edge of the park, and slowed down by the pond, Dean said, “Cas, I’m-”

“You asshole,” Castiel snapped, suddenly turning to him.

Dean pursed his lips and nodded. “Yup, I deserve that.”

“You let me leave. You didn’t come with me. I gave you the perfect chance to get out of there and you didn’t take it. You let me leave after what I said to you, after I poured my heart out. I know I said goodbye but-”

Castiel stopped talking abruptly, and started to shiver. Although, he wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or because of how nervous he felt. Dean looked at him with such a calm expression. 

“I’m here now,” he said. His breath coming out and swirling in the dark sky.

“I know,” Castiel said lamely. He felt himself stepping closer to Dean, wanting to be in his orbit. But Castiel crossed his arms over his chest before he could get closer.

“And I don’t know how to feel,” Castiel continued. “I don’t know what to say. I was trying to convince myself that you wouldn’t come back. I wanted to believe you wouldn’t because hoping hurt so bad. But if you did come back I never figured out what I wanted to say. Everything I wanted to say I have already said.”

“And now it’s up to me. I know,” Dean said quickly. 

Castiel blinked. “You...what?”

Dean took a deep breath. He set his jaw and seemed like he was preparing for something. “You told your truth, Cas. I need to tell mine.”

Castiel stood still, his arms still over his chest. Dean stood, open, his hands at his sides. Dean stepped closer.

“I’m not good with words, Cas. I’ve never been. But I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry that it took me so long to come around. I thought I didn’t deserve you because...Cas you are free. You are freedom to me. All my life i’ve been in this box, and then you came around and blew it open and destroyed it and you broke all my rules and I had no idea how to live with all that freedom, with all that future. What would I do with all this future you promised? I was scared. But you...you said I was selfless, huh? You said no one was as selfless as me. That’s a fucking lie because you’re like that, Cas. You give up everything for everyone and you loved me despite everything and...well all this time I thought I didn’t deserve how good you are to me. But I see it now. You care about me so much. You made me care about me. And dammit, I love you. Of course, I love you.”

Castiel dropped his arms. His lips parted. He stopped breathing.

“I should have gone with you,” Dean continued like he couldn’t stop. Like the words were all bleeding out of his chest and he couldn’t stop it. “This last month, I thought of you every day. Every second. You haunted me, and I loved it. I needed it to get me back here. I worked it all out. I saved up my money and I convinced my dad to go to rehab. I don’t know if it will stick, and really, I don’t care. I just needed to do one last thing for him because, like you said, I am good. I am a good person. Too fucking good for my own good. You were right about a lot more things. I need to be selfish. So, this is me being selfish.”

Dean stepped even closer and held Castiel’s shoulders. Castiel felt like he could melt under the touch. It felt like Dean was going to try and shake him awake. But, he just held him steady. Within the cold night, it was warm between them.

“I love you,” Dean said again. 

There was no one around. And it was risky, but Castiel didn’t care. Screw society. Screw the rules. He knew him and Dean deserved this and more. They deserved the world after what the world had put them through.

Castiel kissed him.

**Waltz No. 15 in A flat major**

Two weeks later, on the night of New Year’s Eve, they were all piled in Castiel’s tiny apartment. Castiel and Dean set up chairs by the big window; they moved the piano towards the kitchen. Claire and Kaia sat on the floor in front of the window, waiting eagerly to see if they could even catch a glimpse at the fireworks over the Hudson. Castiel thought it was unlikely, but they may see it small in the distance. Castiel had asked Claire if she wanted to go to Times Square for the New Year’s celebrations, that Dean could prop her up on his shoulders so she could see. But she refused.

“Too many people!” she said. “I just want to be with you guys. My family.”

Castiel and Dean settled down into their chairs, pushed flesh against each other. Dean took his hand.

Before he knew it, midnight was quickly approaching. The countdown began.

10

Castiel looked over at Dean. This was probably the hardest year of his life, but somehow the most beautiful.

9

He lost his brother, and he met the love of his life

8

He thought he had lost Dean too, but Dean learned as much from Castiel as Castiel had learned from him.

7

He realized that people come into his life for a reason. Perhaps it’s to teach a lesson. A small lesson tailored to what they believe, tailored to the little corner of the universe they took up.

6

They give him a riddle, and he’d have to rearrange it until he swore it made sense.

5

He hoped, with all his heart, that he’s taught lessons too. That the people he loved peeked inside his corner of the universe and learned something from him.

4

He loved Dean. He loved Claire. He loved his family.

3

Dean leaned closer to him, gripping his hand harder.

2

“I love you,” Dean said.

1

Dean kissed him.

They heard the distance sounds of the booming fireworks. Claire and Kaia cheered and jumped up and down.

Castiel didn’t know what the future would hold. But, for the first time, in a long time, he was excited to know.

“Play something?” Dean asked quietly.

Castiel smiled, kissed him again amidst giggles from Claire and Kaia, and got up. He walked over to his piano, dragging the bench out from under it, and sat. This was his place, his familiar place. He lifted his hands to the keyboard.

Castiel played the waltz.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come be nice to me (please) on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/green-eyes-and-classic-rock)

**Author's Note:**

> Come be nice to me (please) on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/green-eyes-and-classic-rock)


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